


How to Sway Opinion and Govern the Passions of Men Without Really Trying

by orphan_account



Series: Engineers of the Soul [1]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Excessive Drinking, F/M, Family Issues, Gratuitous Historical References, Hardcore fluff, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Jealous Kylo Ren, Major Character Injury, Oral Sex, POV First Person, Phone Sex, Post-Battle of Starkiller Base, Pre-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Propaganda, Smut, Sort of happy ending, Star Wars: The Force Awakens Spoilers, Terrorism, UA: takes place in the future, Virgin Kylo Ren, now with shower sex, nsfw chapters are marked, verbal domming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-05-27 17:57:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 35
Words: 43,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6294184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lena Alyan takes a job with the First Order. Sleeping with the commander was not in the healthcare plan.</p><p> </p><p>Title shamelessly stolen from Rousseau's 'Considerations on the Governance of Poland.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fortuna Spins Lena Downwards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Over substantial periods, we have been cowed by the blatantly artificial images of kings and tyrants, so that we meekly supported the most pernicious regimes. With amazing credulity we have been lulled into idolising conquerors, applauding genocide, upholding persecution and condoning exploitation. We have happily been drilled by religious fanaticism into worshipping cruel gods, fearing strange hells, blessing human sacrifice or torture, admiring self-mortification and obeying the oddest of moral codes. We have been willing to believe the silliest myths, we have let our senses be ruled by martial music, poetic slogans, absurd prophecies and exotic images. We may now claim to be more sophisticated and less easily manipulated than our ancestors, but there is little evidence of this."  
> \- Oliver Thomson, Preface to 'Easily Led'

 

The thing about having a meteoric rise is that there’s an inevitable fall. I hightailed it out of the capital before I could be pulled back down. The way I seen it, two roads diverged in a wood, and I took the one less travelled by. Family and coworkers were informed the day before I shipped out. 

It was my old flatmate, Ignatius, who first asked me about my grand master plan.

I say asked, I mean accused.

“Why are you going to work for the First Order?”

I shrugged, not looking away from the screen in my lap. He pressed the issue.

“Aren’t they a little extreme for your tastes?”

The great thing about moving away from everything and everyone you’ve ever known and/or loved for what could be the rest of your life, you see, is that you can be as blunt with people as you like. But Ignatius was – well, not a friend, but certainly an ally – and I didn’t have many of those left in the capital. So I looked up and flashed him the signature, shit-eating Alyan smile.

“Iggy, you know I’ve always liked a challenge.”

He snorted.

“Is that what you told their recruitment team?”

“As a matter of fact, yes it is.”

He shook his head slightly, before heaving himself out of his raggedy armchair that he’d had since his very first year at the conservatory with a groan. He walked into the kitchen, returning momentarily with a second bottle of wine.

As he poured the deep burgundy into each glass, he stated, softly, “Lena, you know, I sometimes wonder how you’re still alive.”

I snatched my glass, clinking it against his still on the table. I took a deep, inelegant swig before winking back.

“Sheer audacity.”

“You spilled wine on your shirt.”

“It’s black. No one’s gonna know.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

It became evident within the first five minutes on board the _Finalizer_ that not only was my presence not appreciated, but neither was my sense of humour.

The Stormtroopers that served as my escort from the wilds of my home to the big black boat in the sky responded to any questions, riffs, asides, with terse, neutral statements. If I hadn’t skimmed the briefing sent before my deployment, I would have assumed they were just incredibly lifelike droids.

Within hours I’d gotten settled in the officers’ zone and unpacked what little I’d brought. Clothing, cosmetics, and physical copies of essential documents, personal or confidential. Everything else was provided for. The end result, I thought, surveying the minimalist space, was impersonal at best. There was no time – nor, honestly, inclination – to change that, and my first debriefing with top brass was in an hour.

I kept personnel waiting for exactly eight minutes before arriving. Five seemed too calculated, ten too risky. Eight is always just right: it shows that you are important enough to try people’s patience, and competent enough to arrive before the real meat of the meeting begins.

That, and those extra eight minutes were the perfect amount of time to do a light face of makeup. The First Order personnel guidelines claimed it was a luxury item, but I disagreed – people listen to you when you’re prettier, and my livelihood depended on getting people to listen to me.

With a final look in the mirror, I slung my bag – a briefcase was too formal – over one shoulder and walked out the door, striding down the corridor with the purpose of a woman on a mission. Stormtroopers swerved to avoid me, which was just as well, because I wasn’t going to move.

It would take at least a week before my biometrics were input into the First Order’s security systems, so until then, I was relegated to the humiliating task of knocking to enter any room with a high clearance level. After a few light raps against the heavy durasteel, the door slid open with a whoosh. The top brass of the First Order were sat around an oblong table – black, everything on this fucking ship was black – some masked, some not. The briefing hadn’t mentioned that, but now was hardly the time to ask questions.

Without wasting a second, I made my way to the far end of the table which contained the only empty seat left, across from the Order’s military head, General Hux. His default facial expression, I’d gathered, could best be described as ‘consistently displeased.’

“Ms. Alyan. How thoughtful of you to allow us a few minutes to collect our thoughts before arriving,” he spoke, his voice brittle and dripping contempt.

I was convinced that at some point in his childhood, the general sneered so hard his face froze that way. I stayed standing.

“You can relax and slow your roll, hoss. I’m not military, precision’s not my expertise.”

“I suggest it becomes so.”

“I’ll take that on board.” With a heavy thud, I slung the bag from my shoulders down into the seat, breaking eye contact with the red headed menace. While rummaging through it with one hand, I grabbed what I had been looking for – an old print given to me before I left for the conservatory. Other children got pets, two-person ships, jewelry, substantial drug habits, but my family knew me. I got the print.

“To begin, I’d like everyone to take a look at this lovely piece of art. I’ve gathered from my time aboard already that the Order as a whole has little appreciation for this sort of thing, but I assure you it’s a very valuable piece of material.”

Nothing.

“I take it none of you recognise this portrait?”

Still, no response came, not even from the sullen carrot opposite me. I looked carefully over each face, each mask, for any signs of thought, but they were all blank.

“This man, pictured here-“ I shook the print – “is the greatest general to ever grace any generation, present company included. Apologies. Napoleon Bonaparte.”

With a deep inhale, I launched into the same story I’d told a hundred times, the same story I heard from my father, the same story I’d repeated in my most visionary moments of inebriation.

“Napoleon. Bonaparte. Funny name, to be sure, but we’ll have to forgive him that. Back before we had even the earliest inklings of baby-steps in spacehopping, back before humanity had agreed that this Earth idea was a noble, but failed experiment, back before Basic was a twinkling in some clever linguist’s eye, there was Napoleon.”

I laid the print down on the table, sliding it towards the centre. I needed both hands for this.

“Born to a family of little importance on an island of ill repute, battered and bruised by a war he was thrust into by virtue of his birth, the man struggled and fought and crawled to power. By twenty-six he was a general. By thirty, he was running a country. By thirty-five, he was emperor.”

I pace up and down the sides of the table, relishing my now-captive audience.

“The question that’s been on every savvy mind since is: how’d he do it?”

I paused, again waiting for an answer that wouldn’t come.

“No doubt a clever tactician, no doubt a skilled combatant, no doubt a bloodthirsty warmonger, no doubt a war criminal. But this little corporal was so much more – a schemer. A spinner of tales, half-truths, and convenient fictions. Napoleon was a man who understood that if you control a story, you can rewrite it at will. A man doesn’t conquer half a planet without good publicity, let alone a galaxy.”

I slid into my chair, back resting against my bag.

“Do you follow my meaning?”

There was a brief silence. I met the eyes and helmets of everyone in the room again, daring them to speak.

“Ms. Alyan, we have full control over an elite army of highly trained and fully committed troopers. Not one of them would think from straying from the First Order manifesto. I don’t think I do follow your meaning,” the general retorted.

It was not an admission of ignorance. It was a taunt. I didn’t blame Hux for thinking it impossible that any authority could rest outside the military, but was hardly going to let the power of the pen go undefended. I cracked a lopsided smile, mainly because I thought it would annoy him.

“As far as I understand it – and do correct me if I’m wrong – war’s an expensive undertaking. The weapons, the medics, the corpses – it all adds up pretty quick. Multiply that on the scale of an empire’s worth of skirmishes, clashes, and battles. Planet’s worth of expenses at a time. War is a fortune that I’m sure even the First Order doesn’t have. But seduction is cheap, and that’s why you’ve hired me.”

“Yes, you’ve made that very evident.”

Catty fucker.

“I’d like to think so. All I’m here to do – and all you have to help me do – is make the First Order an appealing prospect. Inviting, not oppressive. Just flash a smile, give a nod, and planets will be flocking to join up. No conquering necessary.”

A rasp came from one of the masked officers, clad entirely in black. Must have just returned from the field, as - his? Hers? its? - garb was distinctly non-uniform and, to be completely honest, scruffy.

“The woman has a point, Hux. Cut expenses in battle and you can put that much more funding to your pet project.”

Ah, he.

“I would hardly call Starkiller Base a pet project, Ren.”

If looks could kill. I might have made my way onto the general’s shitlist, but I was clearly far down the ranks.

“Gentlemen. If I may,” I started, propping my chin up on my hands, “I think I’ve made my point. There’s no need for extra agitprop within the system, you’re right about that, general. It certainly seems like you and your subordinates-“ I gave a friendly nod to the room, “have done their jobs well in this respect. But there’s plenty to be done on the outside. Give me free rein over the streams of communication between the Order and its provinces and I can promise planets by the score will be lining up to provide troops, resources, and sweet, sweet green to the Order.”

Scanning the room for dissent, I found no obvious signs of distrust. Most of Hux’s men and women seemed to be on board. Military minds are easily swayed.

Hux cleared his throat before responding. “Very well, Ms. Alyan, free rein is granted. We do, however, expect a contingency plan to enlighten us as you how you plan to seduce these scores of planets by your next debrief.”

“Easy. I’ll just borrow a few lessons from my close friends,” I grinned, tapping the print, before sliding it off the desk and into my bag.

“That’s been my time, ladies, gentlemen, miscellaneous. Have fun in the war room.”


	2. Engineering Consent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If a man in office were to try to say all he thought he would expose his country to certain defeat. So let good citizens not fear the intemperate wanderings of my pen. My hands are full of truths, and I will hold myself back from entirely opening them [...] My colleagues were all so occupied and carried along by the whirlpool of affairs, some in committees, others on mission, that they didn’t have time to read, and some even to think."
> 
> \- Camille Desmoulins, Le Vieux Cordelier, 5 December 1793

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol, Kylo isn't even in this one I apologise.

My next debrief was supposed to be a tete-a-tete with the Order’s highest-ranking intelligence officers. I wasn’t surprised to see the general sat at the table, though, looking as always as though he’d just smelled a week-old fart. His presence put the bureaucrats on edge, so he had clearly made a change in his schedule just to attend.

If he was so worried about my possible questioning of his authority, it would have been far smarter to appear as though he wasn’t.

“We’re going to be employing a dual strategy of internal infrastructure improvements and outward intimidation. Yes, it will cost a pretty penny, but that’s nothing compared to what’s currently going to excess spending on surveillance troopers for central planets. If we reduce the police presence in safe planets by at least twenty percent, the Order can afford to pay for extensive sanitation and education programmes in frontier planets. All I need is the go-ahead of the Order’s chief of police.”

Looking up from my reader for the first time since sliding into my seat, I locked eyes with the man in question. “Lieutenant?”

I appreciated Lieutenant Mitaka, he’d been nothing but polite, even deferential, in my first two weeks aboard the Finalizer. He was the only one of the high-ranking officers to seem to understand that charm and courtesy are not weaknesses. I almost liked the guy. He was also acting head of Safety, Harmony, and Intelligence Troopers (Mitaka had not appreciated my suggested motto: ‘We’re aware of the acronym problem’), and I had to remain on speaking terms with him if I wanted any information worth having. Thankfully, he was fairly easy to get on with.

“I’m willing to review beat numbers on core planets. I can have a list of precincts eligible for reduction by eighteen hundred hours.”

“Unnecessary, I’ve already done it. I’ll have the information to you within the hour. Thank you, Lieutenant.”

He nodded and offered a slight smile.

“Item two, outward intimidation.”

The general cut in before I could continue. “Ms. Alyan, how are you planning on conducting an intimidation campaign with a diminished police presence?”

“Because I’m not going to be the one conducting the campaign. At the moment there’s no intelligence reporting that the Republic is planning potentially violent expansion into Order hinterlands.”

 

 

A room of blank faces stared back at me. If I couldn’t get a cogent response out of the lot of them, I’d settle for a reaction.

“I’m sorry, is this a room full of intelligence officers or greysors?”

The man directly to Hux’s left, a tall, rigid – well, who among them wasn’t – and classically handsome officer spat back at me.

“How do you expect us to respond to the stating of obvious truths?”

“Thank you, Lieutenant Rodinon. It is indeed obviously true from all information currently available that the Republic is not planning potentially violent expansion into Order hinterlands, and I have no idea how these kinds of spurious rumours get started.”

Mitaka smiled at me from across the table, and I winked in return.

“I think I’ve made my point. Any further discussion would be a waste of my, and also your, valuable time. I suggest you use the remainder of the time allotted for the debrief to begin spinning the rumour mill.”

A clatter of cuffs, buckles, and belts, and the scrape of chairs across the floor accompanied the group’s obedient rise from the table. The officers filed out quickly, but I caught the last before he could escape.

“General Hux – a word?”

“I thought the meeting was adjourned. Have you forgotten something?”

“No, it’s just a personal matter.”

His brows raised slightly, but I gave him no time to guess at what might be so very important to bring up in a private audience with the general.

“Your hair. Part it to the right.”

“What?”

“Part your hair to the right.”

“I heard you perfectly clearly, _Lena_. That’s not the issue.”

“Right, _general_. As it sits now, your hair is parted to the left. This is visual shorthand for untrustworthiness. People – and make no mistake, according to the last conducted census the bulk of the Order’s current population is human – don’t trust men who part their hair to the left. It makes you seem shady and scheming. Now I know you are shady and scheming, and you know you’re shady and scheming, but the millions of questionably loyal masses don’t need to know that.”

“You’re very, very lucky I have no time to deal with a disciplinary hearing for you.”

“I’m not telling you this to irritate you. It’s true. Left parts are the domain of used-ship salesmen and low-level crime bosses. Part your hair to the right. It’s a small enough change to be thoroughly unremarkable, and will definitely improve public opinion the next time you have to make a personal appearance. It’s not like I’m asking you to shave your head.”

“I’ll take it into consideration,” Hux said, in a tone of voice that suggested he had no intention of doing so. “General, with all due respect, which is none whatsoever, you’re the face of a pan-galactic organisation. I suggest you start acting like it.”

“For someone who prides herself on her ability to seduce others, you’re incredibly nasty.”

“Hux, I’m nasty so that you don’t have to be. I assume you’ve got work to do, catch you on the flip-flop.”

I breezed past him and headed back to my quarters while the sharp, staccato sound of angry footsteps died away.


	3. I've Been Drinking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What do you think of all things in the world would give me the greatest pleasure? To be able to go about incognito in London and other parts of England, to the restaurateurs, with a friend, to dine in public at the expense of half a guinea or a guinea, and listen to the conversation of the company; to go through them all, changing almost daily, and in this manner, with my own ears, to hear the people express their sentiments, in their unguarded moments, freely and without restraint; to hear their real opinion of myself, and of the surprising occurrences of the last twenty years."
> 
> \- Napoleon, in exile on St. Helena

“I don’t see what the danger is. I thought the First Order had everything under control.”

“We have everything under the illusion of control. You, of all people, should appreciate that.”

“Fair enough, Mitty. Fair enough.”

He cringed at the nickname, but didn’t protest it. We were already three drinks deep, now was not the time to get belligerent. 

Still, while Mitaka might, I’ve never been one to give up easy.

“What if I went with a small guard? Like a plain-clothes operation?”

“You’d need to be granted leave.”

“Why? It’s not for my own leisure or anything. It’s work,” I said, before downing the last of my drink.

“Phas, be a darling and get me another, wouldn’t you?”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Fine. Can I get either of you shining examples of courtesy, hospitality, and understanding another drink?”

“If it’s not too much trouble, I’ll take an amaretto sour.”

“I had no idea you were a forty-year old housewife, lieutenant,” I said, rushing away before he could respond.

As I waited for the incredibly overworked bartender to take my order, I people-watched the obnoxiously orderly crowd at the bar. This is what it’s come to, I thought. Slumped over the durasteel counter of a petty officer’s bar, surrounded by people I’d have spat at only three months ago. I tried to concentrate on the lingering burning of brandy in the bottom of my throat. It didn’t work.

Granted, it would be unfair to say that it wasn’t kind of the Lieutenant to ask me to join him and his – friends? Colleagues? Superiors? – for a drink this evening, and I had no intention of refusing. Alcohol is the greatest friend a charlatan could ask for, under the right circumstances. But it was uncomfortable, to say the least, to see how little they put down, how prim and proper they were about their beverages, how they swirled wine with poise and sipped at whiskey like hummingbirds. 

“Back again?”

The ex-trooper-turned-bartender actually smiled when she noticed me. 

“Here with colleagues. Conducting some business.”

“Can I get you the usual, Ms. Alyan?”

“Actually, I’m not drinking tonight. Can I get two amaretto sours?”

“Of course.”

“Hey, by the way – do they pay you to do this?”

“No, Ms. Alyan.”

“Ok. Well, look. First off, my name’s Lena and that’s the only name you know me by, got it? If anyone comes around here asking about me, unless they ask specifically for Lena, you haven’t seen me.”

“Yes, Lena.”

“Thanks. Secondly, take this-“

I slid fifty of the base’s in-house credits across the counter.

“Keep the change and your mouth shut, and there’s more where that comes from, yeah?”

Her smile got wider as she topped the drinks off with another dash of simple syrup. 

“Certainly.”

“Thanks a million, kid,” I said, grabbing the glasses and weaving my way back through the crowd, and endless sea of nondescript black and silver, sharp haircuts and starched collars. As I approached our isolated table in the dimly lit corner of the lounge, I saw the two officers quickly pull away from a small huddle over the table, returning to upright, sober stances.

“Your drink, lieutenant.”

“It’s much appreciated,” he said, leaving it untouched on the table.

Whatever they had been discussing was evidently too important to continue in front of non-military personnel, so it was left to me to restart the conversation.

“He’s ridiculous, you know. There’s no logical reason for him to deny the request. If he wasn’t so worried about the circumference of his cock-swinging being curtailed, I’d already be gathering intel on the streets of the Order centre. That’s what I should be doing, and frankly, it’s pretty fucking petty of the terracotta terror to veto a perfectly valid mission, especially considering he hasn’t –“

Phasma raised one finger, cutting me off from my partially-sober tirade.

“Let me a make a suggestion.”

“Shoot.”

“Lena, Hux has been the de facto head of the First Order almost since its inception. He’s the public face of its goals, its successes, and its failures. If anything you do – and do remember, Lena, you’ve only been with us for a matter of weeks now – results in a disaster, it lands on his head. He’s minimising risk.”

“I didn’t hear a suggestion. Lieutenant Mitaka, did you hear a suggestion? Because I sure as hell didn’t hear a suggestion.”

Mitaka found that this was an excellent opportunity to take the first sip of his drink, which was currently sweating its way down the sides of the glass and pooling on the table.

“I suggest you not directly challenge Hux’s authority. He’s already in a constant game of one-ups-man-ship with Kylo Ren, I don’t think you want to get involved in a second.”

“Wait. Back up – who’s Kylo Ren?”

“You don’t know?”

“Not at the moment, no, but I often find that the strongest bonds of friendship are forged in the fires of mutual hatred.”

Phasma sighed, her head fell into her hands. Mitaka had now downed half his drink.

 

I win.

 

Mitaka placed his drink down gracelessly – I probably should have told him it was a double, but what’s done was done – and put a hand to his temple.

“You haven’t met Kylo Ren?”

“If I have, I didn’t know it at the time.”

“He’s a….a very powerful Force user. Hux and he don’t get along particularly well. They have…differing visions of the Order’s objectives.”

“Like what?”

“It’s difficult to explain – Phasma?”

“Lena can figure it out herself. She’s employed to find information, aren’t you?”

“Actually, I’m employed to change information, so you can go fuck yourself, blondie.”

I glanced towards the bar, wondering how it would look if I got myself another drink, and decided against it. I was too far gone to think up any believable lies.

“I’m afraid on that note, I must take my leave,” I said, rising wobbily from seat.

I turned to leave, but a thought suddenly crossed my mind, and I whirled back around.

“One more question.”

An exasperated “yes?” came from both my drinking companions.

“What’s the Force?”


	4. I've Made a Huge Mistake (pt 1 of 3) (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Unfortunate Coincidence'
> 
> By the time you swear you're his,  
> Shivering and sighing,  
> And he vows his passion is  
> Infinite, undying,  
> Lady, make a note of this —  
> One of you is lying.
> 
> \- Dorothy Parker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear to god this is actually a Kylo Ren/Reader fic just deal with how slow I am. Also, while there is smut ahead, it is not sexy, like, at all.

Passion is a very rare and valuable thing, which is why we cling so stupidly to whatever small dregs of it we can pull from life. It comes in many forms – rage, hate, wrath, drive, despair, desire, lust. Combine any of these, and the results are near-impossible to walk away from, no matter how dangerous the results, no matter how many times the conscious mind tells you that this is incredibly fucking stupid, what are you doing, what the fuck are you doing.

What I’m saying is, after approximately six weeks deployed on the Finalizer, six weeks stuck in a Kafka-industrial complex hell with no chance to escape, I took leave of my rational mind and began to give in to the lure of the passions.

What I’m saying is, I started making stupid decisions that I will have to live with until the day I die.

What I’m saying is, I ended up six drinks deep in mixed company in the higher officer’s rec lounge.

What I’m saying is, when a heavy, equally inebriated hand began clumsily feeling its way up my thigh, I moved in closer.

What I’m saying is, when I woke up covered in sweat, head pounding, hair frazzled, completely naked in a bed I didn’t recognise, curled into a very pale, very slender chest, I didn’t jump into my clothes and out of the room in a heartbeat.

What I’m saying is, I started fucking General Hux.

Fucking, yes. Not fucked. This became an ongoing arrangement. An active fucking situation. 

I may be overselling the intensity of the situation. To call it ‘hatesex’ would be a misnomer, I’d term it ‘contempt sex.’ I didn’t like Hux, Hux didn’t like me, but when two attractive people attracted to each other find themselves devoid of both reason and clothing, things happen.

 

Things continued to happen for about a month.

 

“You look so much prettier with your lips wrapped around my cock.”

Well, he was soon to be disappointed, because I quickly extricated his head from my mouth with an incriminating, wet pop. 

“Keep talking like that and I’ll bite your dick off.”

“Duly noted. I must say, though, it was intended as a compliment.”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

Hux heaved his upper body from the absolute mountain of pillows against his headboard to bend down run his fingers through my hair.

“Now if you would?” he asked, voice unusually gentle, green eyes half-closed in lust. 

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” I waved him off with my free hand – i.e., the one not currently treading the skin around his balls – and returned to the task at hand. 

The general almost purred as I ran my tongue over his shaft, and I felt his hand grip my hair ever-so-briefly before releasing it entirely as he collapsed back into position, and returned his attention to the datapad at his side.

The marathon blowjob now entered its twentieth minute – I didn’t have any particular inclination to hurry things up, my jaw felt fine, and this way, I wouldn’t have to carry on any conversation. I was free to let my mind wander to all the shit that had to be done aboard. After having my hopes of getting any direct outside feedback dashed, I’d turned to scoping out public opinion among the military ranks, searching for some trooper or another to glorify in agitprop, seeking out where values among the little people clashed with mission directives. This would be an easy task, and even easier to spin as a victory – any slight flaw or deviation from the norm meant that I would pick up what the general’s expert conditioning programs had failed to correct. I’d have to get some of the service troopers to connect me with corruptible friends, I though, as I pressed my thumb into the soft skin of his balls and took the general’s little corporal to the base.  
A soft moan and a sharp intake of breath interrupted my scheming.

“Do that again,” Hux said, not shifting his gaze from the datapad.

I didn’t. 

“Please,” he added, thrusting half-heartedly into my throat, “I’m so close.”

Oh, I could tell. I obliged, pressing slightly harder, and was rewarded with a ragged moan. 

I hollowed my cheeks further, and flicked my tongue over his head. And just like that – with another thrust, this one jerking, forceful, uncontrolled, ropes of cum spurted into my mouth. I swallowed without hesitation – Hux’s sheets were, unsurprisingly, a delicate dove grey that would show any stain.

I waited a few moments as his panting and cock grew softer before dislodging his member. Looking up, I saw that his head was still turned to the side, but his eyes were fluttering closed. I crawled over from my lounging position to curl into him, resting my head on his shoulder, feeling his close-cut hair tickling my cheek.

“What’s the rumpus?”

He used his free hand to stroke my cheek and hair, but didn’t meet my eyes.

“A report from Diutus 9. It’s a tertiary planet. Useful mineral deposits.”

“Sounds riveting.”

“Their provisional government is requesting extra military presence. There’s been some unrest among the local population. There’s been rumours of Republic encroachment reported.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I didn’t thank you.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He put the data pad down and rolled over to face me, offering a gentle kiss on the lips.

“Well done,” he whispered, “on both accounts.”

“Oh, you’re so very witty, general.”

He began moving, brushing his fingers along my breasts, running down my ribs, pursing his lips over each nipple before trailing kisses down my body. He paused with his head in his hands, directly above my cunt.

“I’m a man of many talents,” he smirked, raising his eyebrows at me. 

I only had a second to think before he fucking attacked my clit with his tongue. Where I was all languid, slow licks, Hux was determined to get me off as quickly as possible, the bastard.  
I fisted my hand in his hair, pulling him out of reach. 

“Slow your roll, hoss.”

He grinned with a mouth full of shark’s teeth and glistening lips. 

“Whatever the lady wants.”

His pace slowed, but his intensity did not ebb. He was relentless and everywhere at once, nails digging into my thighs, fingers curled up inside, tongue lapping at my lips, at my clit, at the crease of my thighs, nose rubbing against my clit. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his eyes fixated on me as I watched, mouth open, wordless, incapable of speech.  
I exaggerated a moan and tossed my head back, unwilling to meet his gaze any longer.


	5. Fever Burning Bright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What if you just love? without deciding? You just do: you see her and in that instant, you are lost to sober account-keeping and cannot choose but to love?" - David Foster Wallace, Infinite Jest

My holocomm woke me up far too early, and as I glared at it from my position burrowed beneath a too-thin duvet, I groaned.

 _Agenda_ , it read,

_10:00 hours – intelligence debrief in re: Diutian situation and extension of current operations._

“I handled that shit a fucking week ago,” I whined at the machine as I fought back my blankets, exposed to the chill of the room.

Just over two hours to prep my mind, my body, for the most frustrating routine I have ever had. Working by myself, with machines, with minds who think alike, is all fine. This was working with minds who didn’t think at all.

“Attending officers?” I directed to the screen, stripping off my sleeping clothes.

I listened to the drone of semi-recognisable names from the machine as I readied a saline preparation, counting them off in my head – idiot, useless, pretty but stupid – until the last one made me jump.

“General Hux.”

“Well, fuck that,” I hissed between my teeth as the pain from my unintentional subcutaneous injection coursed through my arm.

After a quick shower and a fresh shot, I sent a message forward:

_With regrets, I cannot attend today's debrief. My time is too important to waste._

_Sincerely,_

_L. Alyan, Director of Internal Communications_

 

 

* * *

 

_Day 103: It has become apparent during my time in captivity that my masters have no intention of letting me die slowly, mercifully. Rather, they are determined to break my spirit, to watch me become like them. I will not let this happen._

_I have attempted to break free of their conditioning today, eschewing my scheduled brainwashing to construct a more complete picture of this monochrome maze. If these monsters refuse to allow me to see the multitudes of the outside world again, I have no choice but to divulge to myself the secrets of this hell in miniature._

_This is Lena Alyan, reporting from the fourth deck of resurgent-class vessel the_ Finalizer, _officer’s section. May god have mercy on our souls._

It became apparent within the first hour of my spite-fuelled expedition that I was sorely out of place. It was five minutes after I realised this that my internal monologue began panicking.

It was three twisting corridors, identical but for the tasteful inclusion of a First Order insignia branded into the wall of the third, two flights of stairs, one bridge, and one id-protected door later that it stopped altogether, and my brain went quiet for the first time in years. It was emptier than the room I'd just entered. A studio, maybe? A gym? It's difficult to say, I avoid exercise for health reasons.

There are three things I know to be true: one, nothing good has ever happened in a stranger’s apartment after seven in the morning; two, credit has never made anyone happier than the things it buys; and three, -

“I hate to interrupt your training, but I think you might be the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

Right on the money.

Indulge me. Imagine, if you will, the most beautiful creature you’ve ever seen. Now imagine it, but better, and you begin to approach what I’m describing. He was far too tall, and far too muscled, and far too serious. His biceps – which had to be marble, not human flesh – were lightly dusted with freckles, as was his face, all exquisitely sculpted cheekbone and deepset, burning eyes against pale skin.

He wore a simple tunic and flowing trousers, which came all the way to the floor, showing only his toes against a sea of black.

He looked like a Caravaggio, come to life.

He looked like the man I dreamt of when I was young, and stupid, and didn’t realise that standards existed to be lowered.

He looked like I would like him so much better pinned underneath me, without that stupid clothing in the way.

There are few things stupider than falling in lust, and yet I was helpless to stop myself.

He stood as dumbly as I did, surrounded by flickering holograms of presumably-vanquished foes that he’d been handily dispatching with the aid of a wooden longsword only seconds ago.

“Now, is that a sword in your hand, or are you just happy to see me?”

He returned to his work moving more deliberately, conscious of his audience. 

“This is a private area.”

“I’m aware, and frankly, I’m incredibly irritated that you’ve interrupted my thought process. What exactly are you doing here?”

His grip on the hilt tightened, knuckles whitening, and he hissed through gritted teeth.

“You should leave.”

“Oh, but I haven’t even introduced myself! I don’t think we’ve met yet,” I said, stepping forward from the threshhold and extending a hand, “Lena Alyan. Director of Internal Communications. And yourself?”

He looked me up and down – well, down and down, the boy was tall – but didn’t meet my gesture.

“You’re the propagandist.”

“I prefer the term ‘media manipulator.”

“That hardly changes what the job is, does it?” he asked, eyes narrowing slightly.

“No…no, I guess it really doesn’t,” I shrugged, “You got me there.”

“I’m sure you’re busy,” he said, curtly, before turning back to face the glowing horde.

“You have a dancer’s grace, you know.”

One of the greatest tools I have developed, perhaps third only to my alcohol tolerance and skill in spin, is the ability to unnerve with a single sentence.

And yet, it didn’t achieve what I’d hoped. He stayed at work, methodically slicing his way through flickering foes, his feet heavy and chest light, muscles coiled. I wasn’t lying, either. They weren’t refined movements by anyone’s definition, the boy had no career in the ballet, but they had a beautiful internal symmetry, an elegance in their utility, every motion, every turn of the wrist, every step to the side deciding battles, wars, histories. In short, he fought the way desperate men fuck.

I watched from the doorframe as long as I dared to, as his motions grew faster, harsher, more vicious. He was no longer fighting an imaginary enemy; he was lashing out at it.

I slipped away in a daze, in no hurry to return to my room, content to wander the ship with the paragon of pure, uncorrupted beauty burned into my mind.

 _Day 103: I have reached a higher plane of existence. No cruel emperor can bend me to his will, for I no longer need food, air, or water to survive._  
  
All this was just as well, because I spent the next five hours hopelessly, delightfully lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies, I intended to have this up yesterday - there was another chapter that was supposed to go before it, but it's kind of unnecessary. I'm finding it difficult to balance the 'plot' plot and the smut plot without getting hella boring. 
> 
> And for the record, yes, Kylo Ren is a fucking Caravaggio come to life, it is important to me that we all acknowledge this.
> 
> Also, despite the quote (I just really like DFW and my quote library is pretty light on 'love' stuff), this is not love at first sight. C'mon yall. This is not that kind of fic.


	6. Cheap Tricks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It is inherent in a great colonial and commercial empire like ours that we go forward or go backward. To allow other nations to develop new fields, and to refuse to do so ourselves, is to go backward [...] we are accountable to posterity that opportunities which now present themselves of extending the sphere of our industrial enterprise are not neglected, for the opportunities now offered will never recur again."  
>  Capt. F. D. Lugard, 'The Rise of Our East African Empire,' published 1893
> 
> ‘Facts matter not at all. Perception is everything. It’s certainty. People love a leader because he’s certain of his choices as a leader, even if the facts that back him up don’t seem to exist [...] What is important? What you want to be true, or what is true?’  
> Stephen Colbert in interview with critic Nathan Rabin, 2006

I found myself seated at in the officer’s bar for the fifth time that week. Evidently, this ship only has enough demand to need one fucking server.

“Hey kid, have you seen the lieutenant?”

“Which lieutenant, Lena?”

“Mitaka. He said he’d meet me here at 21:00 hours. I thought brass abhorred unpunctuality.”

“Can I get you a drink while you wait?”

“You can get me two.”

“And what will you have?”

“Two maincars.” “I’m sorry?”

“It’s a sidecar, but more.”

“Certainly.”

The bartendrix left me fuming on my stool, hunched over and entirely too sober.

It had been a full ten minutes after our agreed meeting time, so I’d been waiting for five. Keeping other people waiting is one thing, wasting my own time is another.

“Lena,” rang out from the other side of the bar.

“It’s about fucking time,” I snarled at the lieutenant as he sat down next to me, offering an apologetic half-smile.

“Oh, I took the liberty of ordering for you. It shouldn’t be an issue, I’ve got far better taste.”

Typically, it is not recommended to be openly hostile to people with extensive weapons training and few to no qualms about gratuitous murder, but, then again, it’s hardly typical to be kept on tenterhooks by military brass in a highly fucking urgent situation.

“Thanks, I could use a stiff one,” Mitaka offered, again apologetic, swiping the glass off the bar before downing half of it.

“Yeah, you and me both. What was the holdup?”

“Commander Ren destroyed a section of the SHI Comms hub earlier today. I had to make sure the newly installed equipment was up to snuff.”

“Pricey fix?”

“At such short notice, yes. But it’s entirely necessary given the change in the Diutian situation.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Back up – what change?”

Mitaka looked genuinely taken aback at my ignorance. He took a slow, careful sip, and paused for a few moments to collect his words.

“I assumed you knew.”

Well, I’m so glad you spent your sweet time preparing those, lieutenant.

“About half a dozen or so – I’d have to check the debrief minutes to be sure – planets from the western portion of the Inner Rim have requested Order protection in exchange for resource expropriation and enlistment. The general wants a military outpost established to control them all at once. He’s planning an expeditionary party to scout a location within a fortnight.”

“That quickly?”

“Yes, and he’s asked you to join it. Some sort of fact-finding mission, I understand it as.”

Freedom, in only two weeks. I could feel a foreign sun on my back and see it set, blazing skies and all, in my mind's eye.

“What made him change his mind? Besides, you know, the escalation.”

“I put in a good word for the idea,” he said, before adding, imitating my posture by swirling his glass, “you’re welcome.”

“Well, I guess we can both expect some champagne from the general shortly, then,” I winked, clinking my glass against his, “or at least, I can.”

“I’m sure you can,” he replied, smiling softly before turning to face the bar, trying to get the attention of our serveress.

“Oh?”

“I am head of intelligence, Lena.”

“Oh, I’ve noticed. You’re the only person capable of carrying on a two-minute conversation on this entire damned ship. But the question is, Mitaka, how talented are you?”

“Excuse me?”

That was definitely a go fuck yourself excuse me, not a could you repeat that excuse me.

I pressed the issue.

“How talented are you?”

“What are you getting at?” he asked, clearly annoyed, before putting in a second drink order.

I leaned in conspiratorially, getting so close that our knees touched in the empty space between stools.

“Well, you see, lieutenant, that’s why I’ve asked you to meet me. I have reason to believe,” I whispered, looking first to one side, then another, conscious of any unintentional audience, “that there is a mole aboard the Finalizer, and I need to access confidential identity records.”

“Really, Lena? A mole?”  Mitaka was not having this. He straightened his spine, breaking our huddle.

“Yes, really.”

“Lena, did you really ask me to come join you here after what has been an enormously taxing day just to discuss some far-fetched invention? Is this a joke?”

“Oh, but of course. This is just for my own amusement, you see, I saw a cute boy working out in the training area with biceps that could crush walnuts. Of course it’s not a fucking joke. I have the good sense not to waste other people’s time.”

When in doubt, whipping up fake outrage always leads to a solution. This is true at the interpersonal and societal level. It’s far, far easier to engineer conflict than peace.

Mitaka sighed.

“I’m sorry for…doubting you. But who do you think this mole is working for?"

“There’s ideological subversives in the urban centres in the Western Reaches, you know that, I know that, the mole knows that. They’re working for them.”

“And when did you discover this?”

“This morning. That’s why I wasn’t at the briefing, I noticed unusual activity on the fourth deck and ran into someone who…well, who was snooping in places they shouldn’t have been.”

“Not the data storage archives?”

“The very same,” I nodded solemnly.

“Did you get a good look at them?” he asked, the excess of cognac beginning to take hold as he stumbled on his stool in surprise.

“Yes, but nothing else. I’m going to need to files of every single person who might have access to the fourth deck.”

“I’ll have it you within an hour, not to worry.”

“Fantastic. Thank you, Mitaka,” I said, offering him a congratulatory pat on the back before draining my second glass.

Now was the time for him to get up, fuck off, and leave me to drink in peace. Then maybe I could begin to get some work done on the Mole Situation. But just as soon as he’d gotten up, wobbling slightly (because I am the only person on this fucking ship who can handle his or her or their liquor, evidently), he stopped.

“The mole,” he said slowly, thinking as he spoke, “you should take them with you on the scouting mission. Might be able to corner them, get them to confess.”

“And what would I do then?”

“I suppose that’s up to you,” he shrugged, finally walking off.

“That’s one hell of an idea, Mitaka!” I called after him.

* * *

 

Shit. Nothing.

Dozens upon dozens of near-identical brass glared up at me from file after file after file, as I flicked through them at a rapidfire pace. No one even close appeared – no one with that long, delicate curling hair black like a Capital sky, not one with those deep, burning eyes, not one built like a warrior instead of a solider.

My mole had disappeared back into the shadows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact:  
> Kylo Ren will appear and have a proper conversation in the next chapter, I swear on my life.


	7. First, You Make a Roux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I am at the moment writing a lengthy indictment against our century. When my brain begins to reel from my literary labors, I make an occasional cheese dip.” - Ignatius J. Reilley in 'A Confederacy of Dunces'

Thirty-six hours after I started my research into the Order’s new acquisitions, I realised it was probably wise to eat something before I keeled over.

After forty-five hours of constant work, five injections of pure caffeine, some pills of an undisclosed nature, bottle of wine and one shower later, I finally made my way down to the officer’s mess. In the dead of night, all the trooper staff had long since left and I was free to rummage around for something semi-edible.

Plus, the more time I wasted in the kitchen, the longer I’d be away from any demographic breakdowns of linguistic anomalies among minority populations with tertiary star systems.

Cooking was easy, low risk, high reward.

Onions, celery, peppers, the trinity.

Cayenne, black pepper, white pepper, ground sassafras, oregano, coriander, basil, thyme, paprika, powdered garlic, celery salt. The base.

Flour and oil. The roux.

I was searching for some, any source of protein when I froze. Footsteps echoed from the entrance.

“It seems like you make it a habit to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

I smiled to myself, and, turning around, attempted to be as suave as possible given the minor handicap of severe sleep deprivation.

“Au contraire, I think I’m exactly where I should be.”

“What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” I asked, flashing a wide smile.

“I asked you first.”

“If you must know,” I said, putting on airs of being put-upon, “I’m doing exactly what it looks like.”

I place the fowl I’d found, already skinned and plucked, on the sterilised counter, before grabbing a large knife.

“Now are you going to answer me, or will I have to stab it out of you?”

His intense, deep, dark gaze didn’t relax for so much as a second, but his voice was no longer overtly hostile. Ah, yes, he was warming to me and my big pointy knife.

“I’ve just come back from a mission. It wasn’t worth waking any staff,” he answered, carefully sliding the knife out of my hands. I felt the soft, worn leather of his gloves brush against my wrist.

“Awfully considerate of you. Don’t get much of that, here.”

“I didn’t want to be kept waiting.”

“Well I take it back, then,” I said, holding out my hand expectantly.

“I need that knife. Give it back.”

“Your hands are shaking.”

“Irrelevant.”

“You’ll cut yourself and bleed all over the kitchen. And that wouldn’t be very considerate of you,” he let his lips curl into a smirk, looking down at me over his long, regal nose.

I made a grab for it. He held it just out of reach, above my head.

“What needs to be cut?”

“You.”

He offered me a look of faux-pity, those big eyes widening slightly and his head shaking from side to side, hair bouncing with it. I desperately wanted to touch it, but he had made an excellent point about the importance of keeping unsanitary bodily fluids out of the kitchen area.

“Fine. Dice those,” I said, gesturing to the vegetables.

“What?”

“I’m cooking. They need to be diced.”

“I’m not used to taking orders from mid-level bureaucrats.”

I raised a hand to my head, collapsing against the counter.

“How very dare you, sir, I’ll have you know I’m an extremely high-level bureaucrat.”

“Mm.”

“If it helps, think of me as your sous chef.”

“That’s not what that means.”

“Dice.”

I began measuring, now conscious that because I was cooking for two I had to have some sort of standards about how my meal was going to taste. The spices mixed together, going from a sea of dried green and black to a bright red mix, and I tossed them together while watching the Dark-Haired Wonder’s progress.

Though it is not in my generous and giving nature to be petty, I found the furthest reaches of my brain had overridden any attempts at rational thought, and I saw a thousand little pieces of the general flying under the knife, each _thunk_ of the blade against the Boroan coal board sounding like a small guillotine hitting flesh. A cheer goes up in the crowd as the asshole is decapitated, I thought. Maybe I should chop his cock off while he’s sleeping, I mused, boredly letting my roux brown over the fire as I watched him.

After a few moments, he noticed me staring at him. “Huh?”

“You said something?”

“No, I didn’t,” he said, pushing the prepared vegetables towards me, wiping his eyes from where the sharp sting of onions had caused tears to spring.

Well, no, I didn’t actually think he’d said anything. But I know what I heard, and I heard a giggle come from my oh-so-serious assistant. There was no way I’d imagined that.

He offered no more help, but it was really only a matter of waiting after that. I stirred the pot occasionally, and he stood there awkwardly leaning against the counter, following my movements intently. I had him hooked, or, at the very least, the food did.

“What is it?” he finally spoke as I took the pot off the heat and opened the lid, letting the rich, aromatic spices flood the room.

“Gumbo,” I said, offering him a bowl, “Here.”

“Well, it smells nice.”

“I can only hope.”

We ate in silence, me half-heartedly, trying to force down something to fight the dread of going back to work and working through how to get this gorgeous fucker’s name out of him; him wolfishly, devouring without tasting. I would have been offended had I not been actively attempting to get into his pants.

After he’d eaten two? Three bowl? (I wasn’t looking at the food, in all honesty), he looked up at me, those eyes gleaming and magnetic once again.

“Thank you.”

“Anytime, darling, anytime.”

“You said your name was Lena,” he said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, just as black as the rest of him, before offering his hand.

“Still is.”

“And you work under the general?”

“I work with the general, not under him.”

“Are you not a fan?”

I paused, pretending to think it over. He saw through that in an instant.

Stars, I needed to sleep.

“I’m not in his chain of command. You can be honest.”

“I have fantasies about the general.”

He almost choked on his food.

“Of an extremely graphic, violent nature.”

And I got to hear it again. A small giggle, this time given freely and openly. He got up, depositing the dirtied bowls in an industrial washer.

“I’d be happy to help you with those,” he offered with a sly smile, before taking his leave.

In my daze, I again failed to get his name.

Defeated and outrageously happy, I went back to my quarters, sat down to work, and promptly feel asleep for fourteen hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll give you my gumbo recipe if you want it. I have on 2 occasions successfully seduced people with it.


	8. Cocktail Diplomacy & Crisis Management in International Relations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'That would be a good thing for them to cut on my tombstone: Wherever she went, including here, it was against her better judgment.' - Dorothy Parker, summing up my feelings on all parties which involve standing and canapes

_Your presence is politely requested at a reception for the First Order’s higher officers in anticipation of the absorption of seven resource-rich planets of the Inner Rim. Formal dress is expected. The event will be held at 21:00 hours promptly in two days’ time._

Anything that is called a reception that is not immediately attached to a hotel spa and/or bar is guaranteed to be a bad time. Doubly so, I gathered from the invitation on my holocomm, because I wouldn’t be able to worm my way out.

Higher officers meant two things: 1) I would have to make a polite appearance, and 2) There would be no Mitaka, who had firmly established himself as the only person on this entire floating city who could carry on a conversation that didn’t make my want to gouge my eyes out.

Well, except the mystery man. But that was awkward flirting at best, stilted banter at worst.

At least, hopefully, he didn’t think troop manoeuvres made for good pillow talk.

There was one advantage to attending, however – I had an excuse, at least for a few hours, to tear myself away from the dull blue glow of eighteen different screens. I needed to clear my head of some data.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

I settled on a blood red dress, apparently the only colour anyone on this ship was at all familiar with. It was no good shocking everyone with emerald green or, stars forbid, a royal purple, at my unofficial coronation. For the first time in what had to be over two years, I spent at least an hour on hair and makeup, and swore to never do so again.

I arrived a strategic forty-five minutes late to the (surprisingly) tasteful grand hall on the second deck. One would hardly imagine a ship so utilitarian would allow so much space to go unused.

The general was the first to greet me, making his way through fifty shades of black like a dull, dull flame. For once (while clothed) he looked, if not relaxed, then at least at ease.

“General Hux,” I smiled, allowing him to kiss my hand, “to what do I owe the misfortune?”

He smiled, looking me up and down.

“Lena,” he said, “you look stunning.” He gestured lazily with his free hand and I obliged, twirling on one heel.

“Why don’t you dress like that more often?” he asked, eyes glittering dangerously. He’d already had at least two glasses of spirits, or three of champagne, by my calculation.

“I prefer to blend in. Gives everyone else a chance.”

This was partially true. The other, larger element was an overwhelming conviction that time is better spent sleeping than applying eyelash primer.

“How very thoughtful of you,” he said, not tearing his eyes away.

“I’m nothing if not compassionate, general,” I said, ghosting one hand over his shoulder before whisking past him to my erstwhile companion for what was bound to be a trying evening: champagne by the bottle.

At least, I was planning to before my course was redirected by a blur of slightly-off-black in the corner of the black-and-chrome room.

If I hadn’t known better, I’d say the First Order never grew out of their Bauhaus phase, but I doubt they even advanced to that.

He was wearing a mask – just another one of the many, _many_ stupid design choices this organisation had made – but it was undeniably, unmistakably, unassailably, him, standing rather awkwardly on the edge of a larger conversation, dressed in frayed robes.

 “Oh, hello sir,” I purred, throwing my arms open in welcome, “I’m afraid I have a bone to pick with you."

“You come to my party, you eat my food, you interrupt my very delicate thought process, and now not only do I not know your name,” I said, masking just a bit of real anger and a lot of pride-fueled lust, “but now I don’t even get the pleasure of seeing your face.”

“Are you drunk?” That husky baritone I’d heard only too sparingly was raspy, metallic, but not entirely unappealing.

“Most of the time, yes. So, are you going to answer my question or just leave me hanging again?”

“What question would that be?”

_Oh, fuck this._

“Your name. What is it?”

“You don’t know.”

“Clearly not.”

He seemed a bit taken aback by this – difficult to tell, what with the mask, though – and at last, finally, I got what I was looking for.

“Kylo Ren. Leader of the Knights of Ren.”

“Pleasure to finally meet you, Sir Ren.”

“Ren,” rang out from a clear, sharp voice behind me. Hux was walking briskly towards the pair of us, wedging himself firmly between us in a move which Ignatius used to call the ‘sober friend cockblock’ and which I still call ‘really fucking annoying.’

“I see you’ve met your charge,” he said, somehow looking down his nose at the taller man, before turning to me, “the knights will be…assisting in your expedition. They tend to attract less attention than Stormtroopers. I’m sure –“ he said, raising one eyebrow with malice and suspicion, “that you’re in capable hands. Isn’t that right, Ren?”

“Certainly.”

Hux offered Ren a curt nod and redirected his attention fully to me.

“Lena, I need to speak with you about something confidential.” He turned his head slightly to Kylo, “Highly confidential.”

“Don’t mind me,” Ren said, a taunting evident even through the voice modulator.

“General,” I interrupted, wedging myself between the two men before they started fucking or fighting, “you said _knights_.”

He looked slightly more annoyed than usual, a brief wrinkle of vexation crossing his forehead.

“Yes, I did.”

“Knights. As in, plural of knight. I thought this was supposed to be a covert mission.”

“It is.”

“How many knights of Ren are there, exactly?”

Both men answered at once. “Seven.”

“You want to take eight people on a highly secretive mission.”

The general was running low on patience, the edges of his ears beginning to redden to match his hair.

“I would imagine you would rather have a guard and not need it than need a guard and not have it.”

“I wouldn't need any guarding if you hadn’t assigned the whole fucking Round Table to this, Hux,” I started, feeling a rant coming on. Ren had taken to looking from one face to another, watching the two of us wordlessly.

“You’re a needed talent, we’re hardly going to send you off to some forsaken rock with a club and slingshot to protect you.”

“Aha! So you admit I’m talented.”

“Yes, too talented to risk losing unnecessarily because of some perceived need to ‘blend in.’”

“It’s not perceived, asshole. Listen. We’re already stretching the Galactic Concordance to the breaking point by agreeing to absorb these planets. Our justification is obvious horseshit – you’re welcome, by the way - and the Republic is screaming their innocence in every news broadcast that I have to personally sit down and censor, which, by the way, thank you very much for that pointless task. It would hardly be conducive to the current goals of this little organisation you’ve got going here to get caught violating intergalactic treaty. I can’t imagine you’d be interested in going to war over some forsaken rock. It would serve you well to maintain a low profile.”

His nose wrinkled and lip flared, too far gone now to curb his obvious distaste.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m not going to disagree with that.”

“She’s right, Hux. We’re unprepared for war. There’s no need to seem overtly hostile.”

“Thank you, Sir Ren.”

“So what’s your proposed solution, then?” Hux huffed, and snatched a snifter of brandy from a wandering attendant.

“I go alone, plainclothes. With a pilot.”

“Alone.”

“That’s how all the greats did it.”

“And I suppose you think you’re one of the greats, then?”

“Obviously, but it’s not like you’d know anything about that.”

“Lena. I would mind your tongue if you’d like to avoid another disciplinary.”

“General, if it’s anything like your last disciplinary hearing, I have the unfortunate feeling it’ll leave the both of us deeply unsatisfied.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw Ren’s chest heave and a hand fly to cover his mask.

“You’re disgusting.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

Left without a coherent response, Hux finally did the world a great service and fucked off to bother someone else. But I had a hard time watching him go so quickly.

“General!” I called, causing him to turn abruptly on his heel.

“I love what you’ve done with your hair,” I said, before dissolving into giggles. I turned towards Ren, who’d remained stoic silent throughout the argument.

“Don’t mind him,” I offered, shrugging, “he’s just feeling a bit superior tonight.”

“I’ve found he always feels that way.”

We both stood there for a moment in silence. I sipped lightly at my champagne, already drunk on power.

He spoke first.

“I assume, as the most senior of the knights, you’ll want me piloting your ship.”

“You assume right, sir.”

“You know you're free to call me Kylo.”

“Maybe when you’ve earned it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How conveniently the pieces all fit together.


	9. The Holy Grail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You could not give up a human heart as you could give up drinking. The drink was yours, and you could give it up: but your lover’s soul was not your own: it was not at your disposal; you had a duty towards it.” - T. H. White, 'The Once and Future King
> 
> Note for the chapter ahead: Contains vaguely dubious consent. Nothing that should be too upsetting for most people, but I thought it important enough to warrant a warning, so if you think it might bother you, I wouldn't read it.

“You made a bet and you lost. You have to honour it.”

“I only agreed to shut you up for an hour.”

“Yeah, but you still agreed to it.”

“A powerful Force-user such as myself has neither need nor desire to be degraded by wasting time away on vices like some child.”

“Well, being a Force-user sounds incredibly boring. I hope it comes with benefits. A good pension, maybe.”

He huffed, air filtering through his mask, but didn’t have a response. I’d wagered him that I could adjust the voice-modulator to a high-pitched whine three days ago (I did it while he slept). In return for fixing it, he’d agreed to one free night of celebration, place of my choosing.

 

I remember biting my lower lip before breaking out into a grin as he looked wordlessly ahead into space, face unreadable behind black and chrome.

“So…we’re going on a date.”

“No.”

“Oh, don’t sound too excited, now.”

 

And now I was sat at his side once again, looking directly at him, reduced to begging, because I desperately needed a) a drink, and b) to get laid.

He shooed me away with a gloved hand after that, and I returned to the theoretically more important task of orienting the new addition’s ideological alignments within the Order manifesto. Thankfully, there was plenty of overlap – the Inner Rim’s hinterlands were, for the most part, battered and bruised states that would gladly take strong-arming and resource robbing with question as long as food, medicine, and order could all be ensured.

Without looking up, I tried to restart the conversation. I didn’t mind Kylo too much, I decided. He was pleasant to look at, not too difficult to get on with, and shockingly, had interests outside of military hardware. Hardly the total package, but easily the best of a bad lot.

“Have you ever heard of Peter the Great?”

“Of course not.”

This was my new favourite game. Every day, when work got too tedious, I’d take a break to talk at my pilot about anything at all, usually settling on some grand historical tale that he neither knew nor cared about.

“Well, he was head of the Russian Empire, way back when. Really tall fucker, taller than you. Used to go around Europe with his buddies drinking and collecting curios.”

“This isn’t going to work, I hope you realise that."

“If you don’t honour our bet I will spend the next six hours explaining eighteenth century Russian land reform.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

* * *

 

“How did you do that?”

“Practice. I worked as a server when getting my degree. It was hell.”

I placed the last of a half-dozen pints on the small hardwood table, shoved in the dark corner of an amber-lit cantina. I took him through the drinks at hand.

“This is a pilsner. A stout, a pale ale, an India pale ale, a dunkel, and a dortmunder. Take your pick.”

“You got six.”

“Yeah, I know. Take one.”

“What’s the difference?”

I thrust the pilsner towards him.

“I don’t know, just drink.”

He took a slow, careful sip.

“This tastes terrible.”

“Give it time.”

“I can’t see why this is what you were so anxious to get to.”

“Keep drinking, you have to match me,” I spat back, already halfway through my first pint.

 “That hardly seems necessary.”

“Shut up and pretend to be enjoying yourself.”

He did the first, to his credit, and after a few hours and several drinks (four pints, two cocktails, and a glass of champagne each), I decided he’d had enough.

“Hey, it’s gonna be last call soon,” I said, gesturing to the bar, “want anything else?”

“Not here,” he said, before grabbing my hand and jerking me to my feet, “let’s go.”

The cool night air hit me as we stumbled out onto the streets of whatever-the-fuck-city-it-was’s financial district, looking just a bit out of place among the drab-suited and cocktail-dressed stragglers out late on the town.

“Shit!”

The blast of wind came totally unprovoked, screaming through the tunnels made by the concrete towers above. I would have lost my balance if a steady arm hadn’t wrapped itself around my middle.

“Careful,” he slurred, leaning into me.

Using each other for support, we stumbled through the near-empty streets, headed roughly in the direction of the airfield where he’d left the command shuttle.

About halfway there, I realised we could have hailed a cab, but before I could so much as raise an arm I was pulled into an alleyway.

“Wind,” Kylo said, as we watched trash blow down the narrow avenue from our safe haven, which smelled entirely too much like vomit, and was entirely too narrow, to be truly preferable to the gale.

“Yup,” I replied, “wind.”

Even safe from the chill, it was near freezing in the cool night air, so I was grateful when he moved in closer, eliminating any small distance that had been separating us. I was wedged so closely between a glass wall and his chest that I could feel him breathing.

And so it was, deeply intoxicated and half-frozen to death, surrounded by garbage and the fetid smell of city centres, I found myself perched precariously on the feet of one of the most powerful men in this galaxy, straining on the very tips of my toes, hands roughly gripping his jaw, forcing him down til his lips met mine. For a second, anyway.

He pulled away immediately, face flushed red from either embarrassment (possible) or cold (likely).

“The wind’s died off,” he sputtered, looking distinctly uninterested in the changing weather patterns of the local area, “we should get to the ship. Warm up.”

“I could do that.”

“Right.”

Neither of us moved.

“The ship,” I said, “we should probably head back.”

“Yes,” he replied automatically, not looking away from my lips.

This time when I lunged forward he pressed me against the glass wall with his hands at my waist, lifting me up to meet him. My hands were pinned to his chest (not complaining), and I fought to free one and fisted it in his hair, forcing the kiss deeper, more open. He was so shitfaced he’d completely lost any sense of finesse, his tongue jammed into my mouth and his teeth scraping mine. I leaned into him, running my tongue along his teeth and lips, tasting the alcohol resting heavy on his breath, before breaking free to gasp for air.

He let my feet find the ground before gripping my arm again.

“Ship.”

This time, I agreed, letting him take the lead, head still spinning. We made our way there in silent anticipation.

* * *

 

As soon as the ramp was locked back into place, I tackled him with all my weight, throwing him to the ground and crawling forward to straddle his waist. I leaned down and out lips met again in another too-brief, desperate kiss, before I broke away.

His hair was thick and luscious against my skin as I leaned down to whisper in his ear.

“Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

His hands were still by his sides, and when I met his gaze again, he looked more trepidations than aroused. I rolled my spine back up, looking down at him underneath me.

“Kylo,” I said, running my hands along his sides, “just tell me what you want. Use your words.”

His breathing was still heavy, and I could feel him, already rock hard, pressing into my ass. But he still said nothing.

It was at this exact moment that I remembered a story told to me in my first year at the conservatory, in a mandatory course on literature which offered little to my education beyond a weekly view of a very attractive teaching assistant.

We spent a full month examining the finer parts of Arthurian legend, the kings, the queens, the fights and swords and dragons, but most of all, the knights.

Among the less popular knights of Round Table, probably because he was somewhat the worst, is Sir Galahad, the son of Lancelot by Elaine of Corbenic, and one of few knights to consistently in legend reach the Holy Grail. He was purer than his father, untainted by the evils and vices of the earth, and obnoxiously self-righteous. I found him intensely boring.

Looking down at the bewildered eyes of the god below me, I smiled, running my thumb over his cheek.

“Kylo, have you done this before?”

He shook his head.

“Well,” I said, rolling off of him, “that’s disappointing.”

Now he took the opportunity to trap me beneath him, his knees on either side of hips and hands either side of my head, hair tumbling down. He was panting heavily, teeth bared, and I only had a second to jerk my head to the side before his mouth made contact with my neck.

“’S not right,” I said, pushing him away, “you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“That didn’t seem to matter when you had your ass grinding into me,” he hissed, his breath hot and dangerous.

My eyes narrowed and I poked a finger into his side. “I can handle my drink. You can’t. I’m not going to take advantage of you.”

“You don’t even reach my shoulder standing,” he sneered.

“I’m a deeply imposing and terrifying figure.” I punctuated every word by poking him in the stomach.

He looked down at me, and I stared back up, unrelenting. The tension was palpable, I could hear the ragged edge of every breath, feel the warmth from his cloak seeping into my bare skin.

He blinked first, whispering almost gently.

“Why not finished what you’ve started?”

And the thing is, I would have loved to. But I was half-gone – and him completely gone – and I wasn’t going to do this now. Whiskey dick aside, it was too impulsive. If I was going to sleep with him – when I was going to sleep with him – it was going to be under such fabulous, elegant, seductive circumstances that he wouldn’t get out of bed for a week. You do not let a man with a body like an Olympian who lets you rant about poetry become a one-night stand. You drag that fucker with you into the abyss. So I changed tactics.

“Kylo,” I said, scrabbling out from under him and pulling him into my side, “how old are you?”

“Twenty-six, I think.”

“You think?”

“I don’t keep track of it.”

“Right. So you’ve waited this long, what’s a few more days?”

“What?”

“Get some sleep. You have to fly this thing back tomorrow.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I know, I’m a dream, aren’t I?”

He snorted, but didn’t move away. Within a few minutes his breathing had grown steadier, lighter, and I felt his grip on my arm relax. He began to snore lightly, hair fluttering with each exhale.

“Goodnight, gorgeous.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm one of those horrible awkward virgin! Kylo people. I'll try not to make it too cutesy.


	10. This Isn't the Smut You've Been Looking For (NSFW NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Lips that touch liquor shall never touch mine." - Women's temperance slogan, early 20th century

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Can you tell I'm not a smut writer by trade? Because I certainly can.  
> Fun fact: I wrote this in public at my university library.

“I heard that,” he mumbled, eyes still closed.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Don’t touch my hair.”

“What?”

His eyes fluttered open, red-veined and sunken.

“Don’t touch my hair,” he repeated, before grabbing my hand and tucking it neatly by my side.

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Yes, you were. I heard you thinking it.”

“What?”

“You’re projecting your thoughts,” he mumbled, squeezing his eyes shut as though it’d block out the pounding pain in his head.

“Holy shit.”

“Hush,” he whined.

“You can read minds.”

“Yes,” he said, terse, before rolling to face away from me.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this? This is amazing!”

“You didn’t know?”

“No! How are you doing this?”

“Stop yelling,” he said.

“Sorry,” I said, softly, “it’s not every day you find out someone is magical,” I cooed, running my fingers across his cheek.

“It’s not magic.”

“Call it what you like,” I whispered in his ear before pulling away, or, at least, trying to. He caught my arm and turned back to me, til I was almost smothered by his chest.

“It’s not magic,” he repeated, more forcefully, before adding, “it’s the Force.”

 It seemed like a good time to change the subject.

“Kylo, you have to let me get up.”

“Never. This is your fault. You have to suffer with me.”

“I can fix it.”

“No. Stay put.”

“You’re so sweaty.”

“It’s your own fault,” he muttered, already half-claimed by sleep.

“Okay, okay. Get some rest, you need it.”

He didn’t need telling twice, slipping back into a fitful sleep almost immediately. At some point during the night he must’ve slipped off his cloak, and was now using it as a blanket, curled up on one side. He looked almost tranquil. Gingerly, trying my best to keep my movements silent and unintrusive, I removed his arm from around my waist and crept to the small sleeper pod that had served as my bed for the last two weeks. It was uncomfortable, and cramped, and, quite frankly, I liked the floor a lot better.

At the foot, tucked under a set of muddy trousers from when I ~~was pushed~~   fell into a Boroan bog, was my miracle cure. A kit with sterilised water, salt, and clean IV piping. It was good I hadn’t had occasion to use it yet, because while rummaging to find it, I’d woken the boy.

“Are you trying to kill me?”

He sounded more exasperated than angry.

“Hush. It’s a saline drip. It’s absolutely harmless.”

I ran a hand through his hair, sticky with sweat, separating a few strands that had plastered themselves to his forehead.

“Do you see this? This is your body, trying to sweat out the alcohol. It’s hard to do on its own. The saline will help.”

“I’m never drinking again.”

“I say that every time, and yet, here we are. Now let me poke you with needles, it’ll make the pain go away.”

“Why do you like this? It’s horrible.”

“You weren’t saying that last night.”

“Last night my mouth had….better things to be doing.” He lurched forward uneasily and found my right breast, squeezing hard enough to leave marks. I grabbed his hand and pried it off.

“You can wait until we’re back on the Finalizer.”

“Why should we?”

“Comfort. Warmth. Sobriety.”

“You’re so _soft_.” He spat out, flopping back to the floor like a pouting child.

“You have to stop moving and let me help you.”

He reluctantly held out his arm, and I quickly tapped a vein.

"Keep still for at least ten minutes. While you're waiting, what do you know about the introduction of moveable type in the fifteenth century?"

* * *

 

When we docked on the Finalizer the next day, we were met by Hux’s personal lapdog, Lieutenant Rodinon.

“You’re two days late.”

“Well, hello to you, too. Did you miss me?”

“Have you read the newest briefing?”

“Of course.”

This was a lie.

“Good. There’s going to be an intelligence debrief in forty minutes, called by the general. Your attendance is necessary. Commander Ren,” he said, not bothering to meet the mask, “your presence is not necessary.”

“Got it. Now why don’t you make like a tree and go fuck yourself?”

He gave me an admirable imitation of the general’s traditional look of disdain before doing just that. I waited until he was out of earshot to nudge Kylo.

“Do you know where my place is?”

“No.”

“Ok, so it’s sixth deck, third on the right. You should come by this evening. You know, if you’re still up for it.”

He didn’t say anything, and I didn’t have time to press him. I tucked my datapad under my arm and left him to his own devices.

* * *

 “Okay, so we combat the declaration of innocence with a press release from a quasi-official channel, I’m thinking through some state-sponsored vidscreen network. Here’s the line: no one but no one makes an unprovoked statement of innocence unless they’re guilty. No smoke without fire, right? I want to see that in my morning digest by tomorrow.”

I was finally back in my element, free from the tedium of data, with full command of the room.

“The sanctions aren’t my area of expertise, but there’s little the Republic can offer resource-wise. We’ve got better technicians and engineers, and with the addition of the Inner Rim planets, access to quality ship-building materials. There’s no incentive for the Order to attend any galactic concert, but we’ll send some minor delegate anyway. Strict instructions to say nothing at all.”

I looked up at the sea of faces.

“Who can we spare?” The question was directed to the general, seated opposite me. He pursed his lips for a half-second in thought, before deciding, reluctantly,

“Lieutenant Rodinon would be a good representative for the Order.”

“Can you do that?” I turned to face him, seated just to the right of Hux.

“Of course.”

“Great. Here’s what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna sit here for the rest of this little chat, and you’re going to practice saying nothing. Second agenda item done. Captain Phasma, you had something to say about troop deployments to the new colonies?”

* * *

_Evening, noun. Definition: the latter part and close of the day and early part of the night. From the Middle English, from Old English ǣfnung. Used in a sentence:_

_I’d been waiting all evening for this asshole to show up, and now it was near midnight, and I was out of things to pretend to be invested in._ I flopped onto the bed, and decided I’d have to find another way to unwind.

I was playing some pointless game on my datapad, still wearing the same drab grey dress I was too lazy to unzip, when the door flew open of its own accord. For a second I assumed it was some problem in the wiring, until Kylo Ren stepped over the threshold and into my quarters. He was dressed as he’d been when I first saw him, a sleeveless black shirt and flowing trousers. Well, if he expected a workout tonight, he’d get one.

“You came.”

 _“_ You didn’t think I would.”

“I wasn’t sure, no.”

“I did.”

“Bless you, darling, you’re so awkward.”

He didn’t have time to respond before I pounced, tugging harshly at his shoulders to bring him down to my level. After the initial surprise, he reciprocated, flicking his tongue against mine.

 _Quick learner,_ I thought.

He pulled away, face flushed and expression smug.

“I can hear you,” he teased, before biting my collarbone hard enough to sting. I winced, and his brief brush with confidence was over.

“Are you injured?”

“Just take your shirt off, Ky.”

He obliged, and I stripped completely before sitting down on the bed and patting the place behind me.

“Sit.”

He did, and I pivoted onto his lap, feeling him, already hard through his trousers. I pushed him carefully down onto the bed, spreading my fingers across his impossibly broad chest. He was sickly pale and heavily muscled, with faded scars mapping a history of struggle and battle.

“Breathe,” I said, softly, and he did, finally letting go of the air he’d been holding.

I straightened up, taking in the view as one might a particularly interesting painting.

“Just as I suspected,” I met his searching, uncertain eyes with a triumphant grin, “absolutely beautiful. Now relax.”

He was still incredibly tense, either from stress or anxiety, and it wasn’t exactly ideal.

“You need to uncoil, Kylo,” I said, massaging his front with small, reassuring circles, “All that exists right now is you, me, and this bed. Okay?”

He nodded hastily, and I rolled off of him before hooking my fingers underneath the waistband of his trousers, forcing them down to his ankles.

“That means those have to go. Now I’ll ask you again – what is it that we’re going to do tonight?”

He let out a small moan, before gasping out, “fuck.”

“Yeah, I’d gathered that. Let me take the lead, alright? Put your hands on tits, and we’ll go from there. Do whatever comes nat-“

He cut off my spiel by flicking a calloused thumb over my nipple, then pinching it between thumb and forefinger. I may have squealed.

I let my hands disappear into fists of dark waves as our mouths met again, greedy and wanting, tongues sliding, teeth clashing.

 _He did have one hell of a tongue_ was the last I had before he threw me off him so bodily I thought he might dash out of the room stark naked, but when he dug his nails into my thighs and dragged me towards the edge of the bed, I realised exactly what was going on.

“Pretty advanced for a first timer, huh?” I offered as he sucked and bit the soft, too-tender flesh of my inner thighs.

“It was your idea,” he growled, now totally consumed by lust.

“Do you want me to tell you what to do?” I asked, but it was clear at this point that he was done listening, and I had to hold back a little scream of shock when he dove in and his nose rubbed against my clit as he licked a long, broad stroke against me, and then another, and another, furious and needy, until I lost any control and arched my back, hips rolling to match him.

I felt his name leave my lips without any thought, and his grip tightened, his pace quickened, his tongue now darting inside and probing before he’d change his mind and catch my clit between his lips, sucking hard and desperate. My hands found their way back into his hair, so soft and pliant in my clumsy fists, and I dared to look down at him. He was completely absorbed in the task at hand that he didn’t notice, and anyway, he couldn’t see this beauty before him, eyes not dilated but steely, resolute, jaw constantly moving in minute ministrations, stray locks of jet black being pushed aside as they fell.

I was almost beyond speech, but, seeing as that has never stopped me before, I tried my best to assure him that his efforts weren’t for naught.

“Fuck---that’s---amazing,” I managed to gasp out in between pants and moans that escaped me against my will, “keep going, fuck, don’t stop – don’t stop – I’m gonna come, just don’t stop - ”

He didn’t let me down, choosing to run the flat of his tounge over my clit, and I came completely undone, collapsing back onto the bed as pleasure coursed through my body. As I was coming down from my high, I felt a pressure on the foot of the bed, and when I could breathe steady again, propped myself up on my elbows. Kylo was sitting, cross-legged and faintly ridiculous, watching me with a mixture of curiosity and wonder, almost in a trance.

When he realised he once again had my full attention, his fingers crept slowly up leg and he swiped two between my lips, then held them up, admiring his handiwork glistening in the harsh white light of the room before licking them clean. He slithered up the bed to meet me, one hand on my breast, the other gripping my hip tightly.

“Stars, Kylo, I’m gonna have your bruises in the morning,” I croaked out, having lost all composure.

“I know,” he said, a little prideful, but still nervous.

 _You insecure little shit._ That brought me back to reality instantly, and I tried to sound as comforting as possible while trailing brief, soft kisses down his neck.

“I guess you’ve earned it,” I nuzzled his neck, “a performance like that certainly deserves a reward.” My spread my legs further apart, hoping he’d take the hint. It took him a moment, lining up his cock, so long and so beautifully curved up and so fucking thick, entering inch by inch until he was completely sheathed inside me. He didn’t move for a moment, gritting his teeth, his lips still wet. I ran my fingers lightly over his shoulders, offering a small encouragement.

“Go ahead, babe.”

He kept his pace slow, finding a rhythm after a few long, deep thrusts that hit my very core. Instinctively, I wrapped my legs around his waist, pitching my hips in time to his movements. Kylo bit into my collar again, this time definitely intending to bruise, and sucked hard as he began to push harder and faster into me, letting out a long, jagged moan from low in his throat.

“That’s it, that’s fantastic, that’s tremendous, you’re doing so well.”

He bit my left nipple a little too hard as he sped up his thrusts.

“Shut up.”

I didn’t have a choice, he trapped my jaw and forced his lips on mine, teeth scraping as he thrust into me one last time, grunting gutturally before filling me completely with his hot seed.

After a few moments to let him catch his breath, he pulled out and made his way to the other side of the bed, curling towards me.

I kept him at arm’s length, our only contact my hand on his forearm.

“You don’t have to leave right away, you know.”

“Are you that easy to impress?”

“Easily the greatest sexual experience of my long and storied life.”

“Don’t patronise me.”

“Fine, but you were wonderful.”

“Better than Hux?”

“You knew?”

“Everyone knows.”

“Did you fuck me to get at Hux?”

“Perhaps a bit.”

“I should kick you out.”

“You won’t.”

“No,” I sighed, admitting defeat, “I won’t.”


	11. War Hawks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bad, obstinate boy, who does not love his father [...] haughty, offish as a country lout, conversing with none but a favored few instead of being affable and popular, grimacing like a fool, and never following my wishes out of love for me but only when forced into it, caring for nothing but to have his own way, and thinking nothing else is of any importance. This is my answer."
> 
> \- Frederick William of Prussia to his then-teenage son, Frederick the Great

I wasn’t surprised to wake up before Kylo, but sometime in the night, he’d curled himself around me so tightly that I couldn’t get up without disturbing him.

“Good morning to you, too,” I muttered, stretching out as comfortably as I could.

My fingertips just barely reached the edge of my datapad, but that was enough. I had work to do. Halfway through my morning digest, I heard the boy stirring. He yawned heavily before nestling further into the bed, and tightening his grip around me.

“Up so soon?”

“Mmm.”

“Am I allowed to get up now?” I teased him.

“I don’t know why you would want to.”

“I have work to do. Places to be. Showers to take.”

With that I tossed my datapad aside, letting it thud against the floor, and leapt out of bed towards my bathroom, small but not cramped.

I turned the showerhead on, finding just the right temperature, before sticking my head out, shouting back the bedroom.

“Well, are you coming or not?”

* * *

“Mittens! I have to speak with you.”

“Yes?”

“Join me. Walk, talk. It’s about Hux’s pet.”

“You should have more self-respect, Lena.”

Mitaka seemed pleased with his little joke, and it took a great deal of my resolve to not push him off the fucking bridge.

“I’m glad to see you’re learning from me, but this is serious. Rodinon’s too hawkish. Someone needs to be watching him at all times.”

“Do you want me to plant a wire on him? That could be difficult.”

“Firstly, yes, and secondly, no, I want you to send two of your underlings with him, preferably ones who regularly interact with the civilian population. I really don’t want to start an intergalactic incident over the ramrod that’s shoved up his ass.”

“The general won’t appreciate you questioning his methods.”

“No, probably not, but who’s going to tell him?”

* * *

“…You’re still here.”

“I did leave,” Kylo responded, eyes still fixated on the blank ceiling, “but I came back.”

“Evidently.”

In his defense, he had changed clothes.

“I brought you a gift.” He rolled himself off my bed and over to the workdesk I’d never had occasion to use, and thrust a plate at me.

“I’d been waiting for an occasion to try this. Tell me how it is,” he said, watching expectantly.

“Please tell me you didn’t make a cake to celebrate us fucking.”

That was the first time I heard him laugh properly - it was low, and short, but still there. It sounded like crashing waterfalls, deep and sonorous.

“Fine, I’ll eat your weird virginity cake,” I gave in, setting the plate on the bed and positioning myself on the bed.

Kylo didn’t move.

“Are you just going to stand there and watch me eat? If I taste this, do I have to stay with you for three months every year or something? Sit down.”

He did, with a small huff of annoyance.

“Shit. Do you have a knife?”

“I can use the Force.”

“I thought the Force was for important shit.”

“And who’s to say this isn’t?”

I could feel a small flush of heat to my cheeks in spite of myself.

“We still don’t have utensils,” I said as he placed a far-too-large slice of cake in my palms.

“We do have hands.”

“You really didn’t think this through, did you?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off –

“Oh, fuck me, this is fantastic.  This is really fucking good” I said, mouth still half-full. I used my clean hand to swipe any schmutz from the my face. “Sorry, you were saying something?”

“I wanted to repay you.”

“I’m not a prostitute, Kylo.”

“You cooked for me. I baked for you.”

“Oh.”

“Why do you swear so much?”

“How the fuck should I know?”

He shrugged, occupying himself solely with the cake.

“Just trying to make conversation.”

“It’s a bad habit I picked up at my last job. It really jars people – this tiny little woman walks in and starts cursing like a smuggler on shore leave. Takes them out of their element, so to speak.”

“And what was that, exactly?”

“Same thing, different place. Not even in this galaxy.”

“How did the Order find you?”

“Other way around.”

“Hmm?”

“I was bored and saw an organisation with a major image problem, so I convinced the recruitment team they needed someone to manage the Order’s reputation. More cake.”

He obliged, musing “So you invited yourself in.”

“I’m good at manipulating people. It’s what I do.”

“Why here?”

“Ky, what’s with the interrogation?”

“I want to know why you joined the Order.”

“I saw a challenge.”

“That’s all?”

“The pay is good.”

He considered this, and hesitated before asking yet another question.

“How do you feel about the Order’s ideals?”

“Don’t really care.”

He replied a little too quickly.

“They’re very important to me. I’ve built my life on them.”

_Diffuse the situation. Do not engage._

“Believe what you want, man. It’s no skin off my dick.”

I saw his hands balling into fists and quickly added, “if you believe it’s for the best, it probably is. I’m just a messenger.”

“It is,” he said, no longer looking at me, “the First Order is going to bring control back to this galaxy, the likes of which it’s not seen in a generation.”

“Oh yeah, the emperor,” I offered weakly. I’d had little time or inclination to read the incredibly dry history of intergalactic politics Mitaka had recommended.

“Empire. Not emperor.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I was mainly focused on the cake at this point.

“My grandfather worked for the emperor,” he said after some time, “he was – one of the most powerful men in history. In any galaxy. He had such…strength of will and such passion. I can’t let his life’s work be for nothing. I’m the only one left to carry on his legacy.”

I’d never seen him like this before. Eyes lit up, animated with such zeal and such determination.

_An orphan. He must be so lonely._

As suffocating as the knight asleep could be, I sincerely doubted he wanted a hug. And yet, I desperately wanted to hug him.

“Sounds more interesting than mine. All he does is complain.”

“So you take after him, then.”

He was so pleased with his own little joke that I saw the corners of his eyes crease for a moment, and amusement and sincerity shone through them.

“Maybe a bit.”

“Maybe more than a bit.”

“Ok, funnyman. Tell me more about your grandfather.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really not pleased with this chapter at all, it feels like such inadequate filler, but I wanted to get something up before I lost all resolve.  
> Related note: If there's any kinks/situations people are particularly ~about~, do tell, I have smut scenes that need to be filled out man.


	12. Outward Representation and Internal Affairs (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Not long ago, if you wanted to seize political power in a country you had merely to control the army and the police. Today it is only in the most backward countries that fascist generals, in carrying out a coup d'état, still use tanks...the day after the fall of Khrushchev, the editors of Pravda, Izvestiia, the heads of the radio and television were replaced. Today a country belongs to the person who controls communications."  
> \- Umberto Eco, recalled in Travels in Hyperreality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NB: There's some pretty crass and unflattering language used in the latter half of this chapter that draws on common media portrayals of mental illness. Also, Lena swears a lot under pressure, which I can assure u is Tru 2 Lyf in PR.  
> Also also, I could not for the life of my find a way to mention that this takes place 3 months after the last chapter, and I'm so behind on the things I'm 'supposed' to be writing that I'll be coming back to fix it later. For now, just roll with the punches m9.

I couldn’t tell you which was more to blame for the deep, dark scarlet blooming across my cheeks. It might have been the wine, it might have been Kylo, it was likely an alliance.

“Kylo,” I whined, knowing I sounded pathetic, hoping he’d take pity.

He shook his head, a devious grin plastered over his face. He stretched out in his (my) chair, tucking both arms behind his head and crossing one ankle over another, making no attempt to hide his obvious arousal.

“One more.”

I felt one of the ghostly hands that had been tracing my shoulder blade travel down, skim my body and settle itself on my thigh, rubbing little circles into the soft flesh.

“I hope you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Oh, I am. This is a wonderful show.”

If I could have moved my hands, I would have let him know how I felt with astounding succinctness, but they were trapped by my sides, completely useless.

“Is that so? Wouldn’t you like a closer look, swee-ah.”

He’d cut me off wordlessly and without warning by twisting my nipples so hard that I winced. He chuckled when I stared daggers at him.

“You absolute bastard.”

“Don’t be so sure about that.”

The Force held me down on the bed now, completely immobilised as I watched my knight rise and leisurely traipse over before sitting at my side. He walked his fingers, real, warm, worn fingers over my stomach before retreating to throw his shirt off.

He turned to search my eyes, his own hungry enough to take in the entire world at once.

“Planning on joining me?”

He snorted and flicked my cheek. “Patience, Lena, patience. No wait, no reward.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

He briefly fiddled with the waistband of his trousers, either still tipsy or too hasty to maintain any dexterity, before kicking them off entirely.

He lowered his lips to mine and, my bonds now broken, I forced him closer, my fingers tangled into his hair, and he moaned into my mouth. Emboldened, I nipped his lower lip and he broke away, trailing little, fluttering kisses along my jaw.

“Careful, now,” he hissed. And then in an instant I was helpless again, a victorious Kylo pinning my wrists high above my head against the wall.

“I said one more, I didn’t say how.”

I matched his cocky, lopsided grin. “No, you didn’t.”

I flipped him over before he could stop me, hovering over him.

“I think,” I breathed, close enough that I’m sure he could smell the burgundy on my lips, “that I’d really love to impale myself on your cock and ride you until you’re sweaty and gasping for air.”

I moved in closer, forcing him to scrabble back until his head hit the wall. His heart was pounding against me before I pulled back slightly, positioning myself just so perfectly above his cock, tip already slicked with precum.

“Babe, I’m gonna make you forget your own name,” I taunted him before taking him in fully, gritting my teeth as the brief pain gave way to pleasure.

(Side note: Bless this poor, sweet, stupid boy, he had no idea he was packing a fucking viper, and I wasn’t about to tell him).

I rolled my hips against him, matching the rhythm of his thrusts as I rasped into his ear, the rocking creating a burning friction that teased my already overworked clit.

“I just wish you could see yourself like this, darling. So needy, so desperate. You’d let me do anything to you to keep you feeling like this, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, yes,” he groaned, moving harder and faster inside me.

“You look absolutely beautiful coated in sweat, I hope you know that, sweetheart. My precious knight in shining armour, yeah?”

I could feel a familiar warmth deep in my belly and rode his cock harder, grinding him into the bed.

\- and an electric scream filled the room. Not mine.

“Oh, _fuck._ ” Always at the best of times.

“Kylo, could you?”

My frantically beeping datapad floated into my hand from across the room.

“When you check that while I’m literally inside you, it does make me feel neglected.”

“Well, I’m sorry, darling, but this is important.”

“More than me?”

“I’m sorry,” I repeated, “it’s Hux, he’s called a crisis meeting.”

“I’m sure he needs you to solve the escalating situation in his pants,” Kylo deadpanned before I reluctantly climbed off him and attempted to find something semi-presentable.

“Oh, hush. You know I’d rather be here than listening to the generalissimo prattle on about Strength through Order.”

“What is so incredibly urgent?”

“Some extraplanetary actors have taken out a massive medcenter on Agamar. The civilian losses are in the hundreds, probably the thousands.”

He sighed, chastened, before sitting up.

“You’re going to reek of sex.”

“Perfume.”

He held it out to me as I buttoned (and then had to re-button) my shirt.

“Thanks. And if anyone says anything, I’ll hit them,” I smiled, before pecking him on the cheek.

“Will you be gone long?”

“There’s no way to know.”

“You’ll tell me as soon as you’re done.”

I was already at the threshold, slipping on my shoes, so I knew I could make a quick escape.

“Patience, Kylo. No wait, no reward.”

I felt a foreign hand tug lightly on my hair as I ran out the door.

* * *

“Ladies, gentlemen, what we have before us is the very definition of a catastro-tunity. We could not have imagined a better media event, so we’ve got the make the most of this absolute beauty that the universe has dropped into our collective lap.”

“Lena, what’s our stratagem?” Hux asked, one hand massaging his temple. The entire military lot looked uneasy at best, and the higher-ups were truly unnerved.

“Glad you asked, I’m coming up with it.”

As I spoke, I paced the length of the floor, heart racing once more. My father always thought I should try my hand at holochess, but I could never be bothered to learn the rules when I’d found a much better game to play.

“Firstly, this is an isolated incident of violence brought on by a lone, crazed bomber. Right? You can’t crazyproof a galaxy. In fact, we should be counting our lucky fucking stars that this doesn’t happen more often. Dig me?”

I heard no dissent immediately, so I carried on.

“I want that message out there through an SHI report and a non-governmental holojournal stream literally now. You – “I pointed at a colonel whose uniform indicated his (hopeful) press competency – “get the fuck up and do what the fuck I said right the fuck now.”

I waited until his footsteps, running down the hall, had died down before pointing at his neighbour. “You? Same thing. Don’t talk to that fucking guy.”

“That’s our damage control out of the way, yeah? Moving on, moving on, phase two is turning this very tragic loss of life into a fucking bonanza of good vibes, fucking firemen bringing ewoks down from trees. Short-term, we send out some military medics to aid the survivors, make sure there’s plenty of communications teams there – Mitaka, I need you to liaise with the FOHN – no, don’t get up, sit the fuck down – and a nice, shiny, freshly waxed squadron of troopers to patrol the area for a while, make sure there’s nothing and nobody where they shouldn’t be. Phasma?”

“Of course.”

“Alright, meeting adjourned. It’s been magical, ladies, gentlemen. Wait.”

I held up a hand before Hux could leave.

“Sit down, general. Lieutenant Mitaka, you, too.”

The general looked slightly confused but significantly more at ease.

“Lena, I’m impressed. You spin faster than the orbit of Moltok.”

“Yeah, I bet you say that to all the pretty propagandists. As much as I appreciate your flattery, general, I have a far more important use for you at the moment.”

“Yes?”

“You know those speeches you do? The little ones for the troopers, all the morale building agitprop?”

“I sincerely doubt that would elicit anywhere near the same reaction from the First Order’s civilian core.”

“You’re damn right about that, so shut your mouth until I say so or I will cut your testicles off and feed them to you.”

He did, but, like always, didn’t look particularly happy about it.

“Mitaka’s going to schmooze with the big men over at FOHN, get them to switch all programming at 21:00 hours to a beautiful, stirring, moving speech that will bring tears to the eyes of your doubtlessly frigid mother and make your father weep with fucking joy at the statesmen he’s….spawned. And we’re gonna stay locked in this room until it’s written.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always kids, feed me ur smut requests and I will do my best


	13. A Trip to St. Helena

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘He is ill-informed, not a bad person [...] he is so identified with this character that he has created that, in a sense, he has come to be him.’ - Cornea, describing the popular perception of the Stephen Colbert character, 2006

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys look how fluffy these two assholes are

It was eighteen excruciating hours later that I was finally freed from my own personal hell and collapsed onto my bed, exhausted but exhilarated, heart pounding, unable to sleep.

Instead, I found myself lifted to my feet by sheer adrenaline, pacing the length of the room back and forth like a sentinel, mind moving too fast and too frantically to stay still.

It had worked. _It had worked_. No riots, no disturbances of the peace reported. Maybe only for a few days, but a few days was enough time to work out a contingency plan.

_Lena Alyan is back in action, baby._

The same obnoxious alarm that had interrupted my precious leisure time earlier sounded again.

_Tenth deck, corridor D._

Beep.

_I was talking to myself._

Beep.

_Tenth deck, corridor D, now._

_I’m fucking exhausted._

Beep.

_I need to speak with you._

The door flew open before I could so much as knock.

“Well, I don’t know what I was expecting.”

I knew my quarters weren’t exactly luxurious, but I’d assumed they were basically standard. But this, this was another world entirely. One step inside the threshold and my feet were already sinking into a plush carpet so thick I’m sure it had fucking geological strata. The door swiped shut noiselessly behind me, and now the entire room was silent, unnervingly so.

I kicked off my shoes, not knowing what else to do, and began to take it all in. The walls were a rich, deep red, broken only by gilt-framed paintings – real, actual canvas paintings – hung over velveteen chaise lounges and davenports, all jet black, bleeding into the byzantine patterns of gold-trimmed rugs. The ceiling was cavernous, a massive fresco of an interstellar battle scene.

The only unadorned area, as far as I could see, was the long, wide wall opposite me, entirely transparent, a constantly changing display of the stars.

“Sweet digs,” I offered, taking the place in, “what’s the occasion?”

His voice sounded, even richer and deeper as it echoed through the empty space. He was sat on his bed – a fucking four-poster bed – slightly gangly in his cross-legged pose, staring off into space.

“Phasma tasked the FN Corps with sweeping the entirety of the ship. I didn’t think it a particularly wise idea to be somewhere I shouldn’t.”

“I doubt it would have mattered.”

“Normally, no. But the FNs are unusually competent. That’s Phasma’s work, I should say. And,” he indicated his face, “unmasked.”

“Oh, yeah – I forget about the mask, sometimes.”

“As do I.”

“If there’s a patrol going around, should I be here?”

“Perhaps not, but you wouldn’t want to be seen leaving.”

“…No.”

“Sit with me.”

I obeyed, tucking my legs beneath me and resting my head on his shoulder. Even sitting, he was still slightly too tall for it to be truly comfortable, but I’d developed a fondness for the feeling of his chest rising and falling against me.

“This is the longest I’ve ever been aboard the _Finalizer_ without a reprieve,” he said after some time. His voice, low and hushed, reverberated and sent vibrations down my spine.

“Really? It’s not been long.”

“It may not have felt very long, no. But it has been some time. Ninety-eight days.”

“You’ve been keeping track?”

“That’s how long I’ve been out of the field. It hasn’t gone unnoticed.”

“By who? It’s not like you answer to anyone.”

“I answer to Supreme Leader Snoke.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t concern yourself with that,” he said, running his hand up and down my back before wrapping it around my waist, holding me even closer, still staring out into the vast unknown, “it’s not important.”

He stayed silent for a moment more, looking as grave as always, biting his lip in concentration.

“I may have to leave soon. To continue my training.”

“In the Force,” I said, too fatigued to be truly shocked.

“Yes,” he nodded.

I reached across and grabbed his free hand with my own, squeezing his fingers.

“This is really the only thing worthwhile about the _Finalizer_ ,” he said, unprompted, “it reminds me of how small we all are.”

“It is beautiful, but I’d rather not be reminded of my own insignificance.”

“Being reminded of our inferiority is important. It forces us to strive to become better.”

“To become great.”

“Yes. Yes, exactly.”

I could feel him cautiously treading through my mind, but didn’t know exactly what he was searching for. I wasn’t going to protest him leaving if it was about the Order. I’d learned firsthand on one too many occasions not to question the Order, even jokingly.

“Don’t leave yet, we’re not finished,” he said, finally turning to face me, gaze severe, eyes flitting to search for signs of discomfort.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“You were thinking about it.”

“Guilty.”

“Thirty-two days ago there was a mission directive given from the Supreme Leader to the knights. A fairly routine mission, just a sweep of an old Jedi stronghold. A precaution, if you will. It wouldn’t have taken more than ten days.”

“Okay.”

He smiled slightly, that just a bit awkward smile that I was more familiar with from whispering filthy thoughts in his ear.

“I didn’t want to leave Hux alone with you for that long.”

“Believe me, I just spent a lifetime trying to make him palatable to poor, unsuspecting strangers off the street. If I never saw a greatcoat again, it’d be too soon.”

I reached up to kiss him before collapsing into his lap.

“You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“I’ve heard that love and hate are two sides of the same coin.”

“Well, I’d love to shove that coin down Hux’s throat and watch him choke on it.”

“Lena, why is it that when you haven’t slept your thoughts turn so quickly to murder?”

I shrugged. “Call it instinct.”

“I’ve never exempted myself from a mission before.” He was looking ahead once again, each word sounded like he was dragging it out of his throat.

“We all need to rest, sometimes.”

“It’s because of you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“What’s so special about me, then?”

He paused. Kylo was not the kind of man to put sentiment into words, let alone emotions. I watched from below as he jaw set, his deep-set eyes clouded with thought, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“You don’t have to know,” I offered, reaching up to squeeze his arm gently.

“You’re not afraid of me.”

“What?”

“Because you’re not afraid of me. Everyone is afraid of me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ky.”

“It’s true, Lena. They should be. I’m not a good man.”

“Maybe not, but great men rarely are.”

There was nothing else to say to him.  I propped myself up on my elbows, crawling backwards against the brocade pillows piled by the score, and pulled him close. I wrapped my arms around him as far as they would go, holding him tight to my chest. I’m sure it looked comical, all five feet of me wrapped around this massive man, but I enveloped him, nestled his head under mine and pulled his body in so close I could feel the rhythm of his heartbeat press against my skin.

I wanted this to be over, and for everything to be warm and quiet and joking again, to feel Kylo smile against my skin before playfully biting into me, to lecture him about staining my sheets. I wanted to sweep this under the rug, to forget it ever happened; I didn’t have the energy to clean it up.

I have no idea if Kylo heard me, or if he was lost in his own thoughts, but I felt him stir against me.

“I need to meet with the Supreme Leader, he’s requested my presence. And the _Finalizer_ ’s getting more claustrophobic by the hour.”

“At least you can leave.”

He smiled, fingers trailing over my skin.

“Ninety-eight days.”

“You can complain when you hit triple digits.”

 “You should come with me to Starkiller Base. It’s safer there.”

“Sounds like it.”

“I wouldn’t want to risk losing the First Order’s best puppetmistress to some lone bandit with a death wish.”

“How big is Starkiller Base?”

“It’s a planet.”

“Is it as big as this room?”

“Shockingly, it’s even bigger.”

“You’re funny,” I was losing my ability to think or speak, cocooned in so much plush and warmth.

“How long have you been awake?”

“Yes.”

“Rest.”

I don’t know how long we stayed like that, embracing too close for physical comfort, but I woke up with his head on my chest and his legs tangled with mine.


	14. Homecoming (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Tell him I'm too fucking busy - or vice versa.”   
> \- Dorothy Parker, on honeymoon, to her editor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for a prolonged wait for a nothing of a chapter - I've been working on multiple dissertation papers and believe me, I could not wait to break away. Another chapter forthcoming tonight.

“Yeah, I know it’s sudden, but it’s a tactical move. I wouldn’t know how to hold a blaster, let alone fire it. I shouldn’t be near the possibility of combat.”

“Does the general know?”

“No, and you’re not going to tell him. From now on, Mittens, I need you to be my representative on the _Finalizer._ Keep your ears open and mouth shut, yeah?”

“As always.”

“And keep an eye on Rodinon, okay? He’s going to be a real thorn in my side trying to smooth this thing over, I could use the extra help. I’ve already got most of the service troopers on the take for any intel about him.”

“Spying on your own side, Lena?”

“Well, if my own side’s untrustworthy enough that I can bribe the brainwashed, then, yeah, I’ll spy on my own side, and you’ll help me do it. Won’t you?”

“Yes. Rodinon can’t be trusted.”

“That’s my boy. Send my love to the little dictator. Adieu for now.”

“Goodbye, Lena.”

* * *

Palatial is the word I’d use. Completely and utterly palatial. If I’d been enchanted by my brief stay at in Kylo’s quarters on the _Finalizer,_ this was another realm altogether. The Versailles to the _Finalizer_ ’s Trianon, if you would. It was excessive, indulgent, almost decadent. I’d never understood the appeal of wealth more.

“How do you live like this? Don’t you get lost?

“I leave a little trail of crumbs from the bed to the refresher.”

“But you – oh my god – this place is huge. If I had known you were holding out on this, I would have come to this ice rock ages ago.”

That earned me a small smile and a brief gleam of affection from his glorious brown eyes, glimmering in the soft amber light of the room.

He squeezed my arm lightly, and I shuddered slightly as the harsh weave of his cloak brushed against my skin.

“So I take it you like it?”

“It’s fantastic. I’ve never seen anything this beautiful in person – no offense.”

“Oh, now you’ve hurt me.”

I pivoted out of his grasp and reached up to wrap my hands around his neck,

“I think I know how to make it up to you.”

“And how do you plan on doing that?”

“Anything you ask, darling.”

“Anything?”

Kylo stared down at me, eyes all molten bronze, flashing with lust. His tongue flicked out ever so quickly to wet his lips before whispering huskily, “on your knees, Lena.”

“Yes, darling,” I obeyed, gazing up at him towering over me.

“Lena, don’t be difficult.”

“It’s sort of what I do,” I shot back, fighting through a seemingly endless sea of black fabric with little luck.

“Here,” he said, impatience bubbling beneath the surface as he roughly jerked my hands away before freeing his cock, already half-hard and as fucking beautiful and thick and fucking elegant as always.

“Kylo, my dearest, you’ve got a beautiful cock.”

“You say that every time.”

I stuck my tongue up at him before spitting in my hand,

“I know,” I said, batting his hand away to stroke the full length of him, pumping his cock with one hand while the other delved into the folds of black to cup his balls.

“Sure you don’t want to sit down? Might be more comfortable.”

“You’re still talking.”

“Not for long,” and, true to my word, I left off, instead licking a broad stripe from the base of his cock down to the head, running my tongue over his slit and feeling him throb against it.

With my fingers pressing soft, rhythmic circles into the sensitive flesh and my tongue running unrelenting along his shaft, Kylo began to lose composure. I could hear him above me, feel his still-gloved fingers threading through my hair as I tore away to admire him for a moment, drinking in the sight of him hard and proud before me.

“Lena,” came from above me, a command, not a plea. Kylo’s voice had dipped into that beautiful, dark resonance that only came out when he was truly needy. But it could wait a moment.

“Yes?” I looked up at him, biting back a smile.

His grip on my scalp jerked me forward, and from low in his throat, he growled.

“Suck.”

I wrapped my lips around his head before taking him in and sucking in earnest, hand moving in rhythm with my mouth, lewd sounds of spit against skin escaping my mouth before being drowned in the curtains of fabric around me.

From above me, I heard a harsh intake of breath, and glancing up saw my knight, eyes half-closed and head lolling back, lost in ecstasy.

_You’re welcome._

His free hand grabbed mine, stopping its movements and prying it off his cock, from above panting out, in between moans, “just your mouth.”

The leather knotted in my hair creased as his grip tightened, forcing me further onto him as his hips jerked rougher and faster into my face. I hollowed my cheeks as best I could (damn well) and lowered my tongue; taking him in as far as I could before gagging.

That’s when he snapped, his fingers tugging my hair in knots as he began fucking my face relentlessly, snapping his hips with each thrust deep into my mouth. He hit the very back of the throat with each jerk, his movements growing more erratic as I ran my tongue around his length, lightly flitting its tip over his head for the brief second they could make contact before a heavy groan sounded above me. With another last, laboured thrust, he came, and I let it, hot and bitter, run down my throat.

The fingers that had been knotted deep into my hair extracted themselves more than a little painfully. Kylo extended his now freed hand to me, and after wiping away a more than considerable amount of drool from my chin, I took it gracelessly, almost stumbling after losing my footing in the thick carpet.

My knight bent down slightly to kiss my forehead, smoothing the hair that had he’d almost ripped from my head.

“Apology accepted.”

“Are you so sure about that? Because you still haven’t shown me the bedroom.”


	15. She's Lost Control, Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If you want an easy job, go work for the Red Cross." - Christopher Buckley, 'Thank You For Smoking'

What might be the happiest six months of my life passed far too quickly on Starkiller. It was a lifeless place outside of time, the only indication of the passing days were my daily digests and weekly reports from Mitaka. Best of all, I only had to liaise with the general when absolutely necessary. I’d made sure it was never necessary.

Kylo’s quarters were massive, almost labyrinthine, the cavernous foyer only the beginning of a complex that might have been twenty, thirty rooms deep.

And he only seemed to use three of them, so I had the rest to myself, using this and that desk as an office when it suited me, spending half the day in bed with one hand stroking the silken hair of my beauty while augmenting crime reports with the other.

As the stars cast their piercing white light against the perennial snow on the ground, glowing against the inky black night, I’d wrap Kylo up in my arms as he unravelled, talking for hours about nothing and anything, painting histories as he pointed first to this star, then that one, weaving a tapestry of the galaxy’s past for an audience of one.

He used the same hoarse, reverential whisper when he spoke about the empire as when he ran his hands over my body, completely entranced by every scar and mark, drawing constellations across my bare skin. I savoured every sigh, every moan and whimper, every sting of nails digging into soft flesh, knowing each one could be the last. Nothing this good was forever, of course it couldn’t last.

And I was right. I’m always fucking right. It’s a curse.

* * *

“Lena, I need to speak with you.”

“Now is not the time, dearest,” I yelled from my seat, refusing to move my eyes from the horror playing out in miniature on my datapad.

Kylo, needing to be top priority as fucking always, had followed the sound of my voice and behind me in an instant, his hands on my shoulders.

“Are you feeling ill? Do you need to be taken to the medbay?” he asked, worry breaking through even with the harsh rasp of the voice modulator.

“No, just – hush, sit down.”

In a flash he threw his mask off and flung himself into a massive, overstuffed armchair that dwarfed even him. I fought the urge to roll my eyes at the histrionics.

“I’m sorry, darling, I’m just trying to think,” I said, meeting his eyes for the first time since he’d stormed in.

“There’s been three” - ping – “well, four attacks in our westernmost sector. All targets were civilian – two schools, another hospital, and a leisure resort.”

He blanched. Well, more than usual.

“And the dead?”

“Seven digits, at least. Can’t be less, might well be more.”

“Do you think it’s connected to the earlier attack on Agamar?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I hope it is.”

He rose, crossing over to me and pulling me into his arms. I felt like a ragdoll, limp and completely boneless as he swayed me gently side to side.

“There’s nothing you could have done.”

“Maybe,” I breathed out, head flush with his chest, “maybe not.”

For a moment, everything stayed as peaceful as it could, the electronic whirring of the datapad being inundated with notifications drowned out by the heavy, dragging breaths and thundering heartbeat of Kylo’s chest against my ear. And then he had to go and ruin it.

“The Supreme Leader has ordered me to lead an expeditionary force.”

“What?” I broke away from him, scrabbling with one hand behind me to grab my datapad like a shield.

“You’re going to leave me alone, on the ice rock. For?”

“I don’t know.”

“But - you can’t leave me alone now. This is a time of crisis.”

“I’m sorry, Lena. It’s the will of the Supreme Leader.”

“But-“ I began to protest, before my mind went blank. What was I supposed to say? Please stay, I need your cock to help me fight terrorism? That seemed more than a little crude.

“I leave in the morning. I’m sorry.”

“No time for a quickie, then.”

“I didn’t say that, did I?”

“The dead are in the millions. I should have had this addressed yesterday.”

Unfazed, he cupped my face in his hands, pressing a too-brief and too-chaste kiss to my lips before turning away, his helmet floating into the crook of his arm as he turned to say a final farewell from the threshold.

“You had better fucking call.”

* * *

“In times of crisis we rally to symbols of strength, unity, and cohesion? Right? That’s us right now. We must unite, and speak in one voice, and that voice is fucking mine, so all of you can keep shtun until I’ve said my piece.”

“It’s obvious that someone is targeting us.”

“I’m sorry, general, what the fuck did I just say?”

He blinked at me from the other side of the screen, unwilling to rise to my level.

“And no. No, it isn’t, and if I hear any of you repeat anything like that anywhere outside the confines of this strictly confidential conversation, you’ll find yourself being fucking targeted, right?”

I found myself pacing away from the holoviewer, walking the lengths of the walls as I formulated a plan of attack, occasionally punching the wall in frustration, wishing with all my heart it could have been the general’s smug fucking mug.

“We know what this is. This is an act of terrorism from some…extremist group possibly being funded by…Republic sympathisers who have been converting the minds of vulnerable First Order youth who have never seen violence or the horrors of war because of the generational peace. That’s it. That’s our line. It’s an internal threat that we can stamp out easily.”

“How are we going to convey the message?” Mitaka asked from the left-hand side of the general.

“Easy. Firstly, we’ll need access to the Order’s military prisons. I want a list of all healthy males between twenty and twenty-five currently in holding. The tougher the better. Got that?”

The lieutenant nodded before beginning to furiously punch numbers into his own device.

“We’re gonna need a ringleader, a scapegoat, someone you’d never suspect, some sweet little – I want a list of all political dissidents between fifty and sixty, no physical deformities or visible maladies, preferably with low public recognition rates. Colonel Dzugash, you’re on that.”

“Yes, Miss Alyan.”

“Hux, I don’t care what it is you do on the military side to find our perps, but whatever it is better be low key and low visibility, yeah?”

“We’ve already sent the FN Corps to two of the sites posing as rescue squadrons.”

“Not bad, general, we’ll make a holochessmaster of you yet.”

“Miss Alyan, we’ve run into a slight prob-“ Dzugash began before I cut her off, eyes blazing, arms akimbo.

“Then fucking handle it. I’m a little busy over here, what with the fate of the entire Order in my hands, but no, by all means, bother me with whatever laces you need tied. Do I have to do everything here?”

“There’s no one that matches that description among the penal population, Miss Alyan.”

“Then you’d best find someone who does, don’t you think?”

She retreated back into her datapad, finally cowed.

“I want backdated documents showing some very fucking finessed planning going back at least eighteen months on this thing. That attack on Agamar a while back, that was a test run for this much fucking larger operation, got it? Mitaka!”

“Yes?”

“I want pictures of our suspects sent out to every news outlet from the Inner Rim to the Unknown Reaches, every fucking newsletter, signpost, holoscreen, and commslink had better be showing some sketchy-ass faces by tomorrow. General.”

“What else do you need, Lena?”

“Keep the perps in solitary, no outside contact, until we’re ready to announce their capture. Should be a few weeks from now. I want them dead-eyed and babbling by the time the public gets a look at them.”

“And what would you have us do then?”

“Easy. We’re going to try them in a court of law. And then, when they’re found guilty, they’re gonna find their sentences somewhat expedited.”


	16. Stress Relief (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "A series of outrages, executed here in this country; not only PLANNED here - that would not do - they would not mind. Your friends could set half the Continent on fire without influencing the public opinion here in favour of a universal repressive legislation. They will not look outside their backyard here." - Mr. Vladimir in Joseph Conrad's 'The Secret Agent'

“General, what you’re suggesting is an act of domestic terrorism. I won’t allow any of my operatives to go through with such a stupid plan.”

“Well, then I suppose we won’t have to use your operatives, will we?”

“It’s one thing to take advantage of existing catastrophe, it’s another entirely to create one.”

“All attacks have been on exterior planets. We could put real fear and obedience into the denser interior populations with only a few outrages. They need not be especially deadly. Just frightening.”

“No. What you’re suggesting is state-sanctioned murder. Not only that, but there’s only so much a population can take at one time. The Order hasn’t been given nearly enough time to process its national grief, this would be a colossal mental and emotional burden that might break state support. You’re promoting political suicide.”

“We could easily do it in such a way that it can’t be connected to the military. Something as simple as compromising the water supply of a city centre would-“

“Listen to yourself. Do you hear what you’re saying? Because what you’re saying is absolutely insane. No one – no one” I added, glaring at the table of anxious officers through the holoscreen – “is to put any time or effort into this little scheme you’ve cooked up. You’re all intelligence officers whose primary loyalty is to me. Not the general.”

I stared fire at him, willing him to drop dead through the viewport.

“Are we understood?”

* * *

 

It was only the second time in as many weeks that the signal strength between Kylo’s command shuttle commlink and my own was strong enough to have an actual conversation. Not strong enough to actually grace me with a much needed view of his ethereal face, but nothing in life is ever fucking simple, is it?

I updated him on the news since he’d left as fast as I could while I tried to unwind in our quarters, eager to talk about anything other than the eight thousand impending bomb threats I’m sure were on their way. I traipsed lazily from room to room, a glass of wine in one hand and the commlink screen trailing by my side.

“Well, dearest, I’m afraid Hux has gone Kurtz on us.”

“It was bound to happen eventually.”

“Maybe, but not like this. He’s – he’s trying to set up a provocation and it’s absolute madness here, darling, I feel like I’m the only one with my head on straight.”

“That’s a fairly low bar.”

“Hopefully nothing will come of it, but it worries me.”

“Everything worries you. It’s part of your job description.”

“I guess.”

“What’s that sound?”

“Just running a bath. Two bottles of the vino didn’t do much at all, so I’m trying my hand at other liquid refreshments.”

“Mmm,” sounded out from the crackling static on the other end of the link.

“And another thing he’s wormed himself into – he’s threatening to transfer the head of military operations to Starkiller as well. Fucking ridiculous, Kylo, it’s absolutely fucking ridiculous,” I ranted, shuffling through the endless bottles of hair product to reach the rose-scented oils Kylo had ordered for me on a whim. I refused to admit how much I liked them, but he would always, always comment on the lingering aroma. Bastard.

“Have I ever told you how much I hate that fire-crotched, good-for-nothing, sniveling, pretentious, pusillanimous, fanatical, demagogical, sneering bastard?”

“Constantly. It’s almost like being back.”

“He’s the worst,” I whined, before throwing one leg into the tub and sinking into the water with a crash.

(Note: I refer to this beast only as a tub only for sake of ease. In reality, its dimensions could best be described as somewhere between a large pool or a small pond.)

 “Lena,” came softly from the

“What?”

“I think you need to relax.”

“Well, yeah, obviously. I’ve been trying to do that all day. No thanks to you, Turdinand Magellan.”

Alcohol impairs the higher thinking faculties. I accept no responsibility for my words or actions at this time.

“No, Lena, I think you need to relax.”

Oh. _Oh_. Okay, Kylo, I’ll play your little game.

“And how would you suggest I do that?”

“Stop thinking, first.”

“I stopped thinking years ago, darling.”

“Good. Now will you promise to do as I say?”

“Depends on what you’ve got to say.”

“Lena,” he said again, a little impatience sounding through.

“Okay, okay. Promise.”

“Good girl,” he purred, his voice resonating off the sleek tile.

“Kylo.”

He knew I hated that patronising nonsense.

“Lena, my beauty, just give in. Let yourself go.”

“Fine,” I huffed, sinking low into the swirling water.

“I’ll talk you through this. Let go, completely – I want to hear every sweet little moan that falls from your lips.”

“Yes, darling,” I whispered, untangling my fingers from the ends of my hair, lazily walking them down my body.

“Not yet, Lena.”

I froze without meaning to.

“You know me too fucking well.”

“Better than you know yourself,” he half-growled at me, “I know how to destroy you, Lena.”

“Then why don’t you do it already?” I said, letting the sound of my fingers drumming against my thigh echo through the room.

“I would, if you would let me,” he snapped, before dropping his voice until it was only a breathy exhale, just audible above a sea of static, “Are you going to let me?”

“Yes,” I responded automatically, before hastily adding, “yes, yes darling. Anything.”

“Good,” came low and dangerous from the commlink, “Now you’re going to obey me to the word. Yes?”

“Yes.”

“And Lena, I will know if you don’t.”

“Obviously, my beauty.”

“Forget the pet names. You only have three words now: yes, please, and Kylo. Understand?”

_Well, that’s four words._

“Yes.”

“Very good. Now listen closely.”

I exhaled, letting my pent-up breath out as I tried to sink into the water.

“I’m sitting there, in front of you. Can you see me?”

“Yes, Kylo.”

“My hands are making their way up your legs, slowly, inch by inch. Do it.”

“Yes, Kylo,” I whispered, eyes fluttering shut as I mimicked his words, feeling the pads of my fingers drift against my calves and wishing they were his.

“I’ve got your breasts in my hands now, Lena. Stars, they’re beautiful, so fucking beautiful, and all for me.”

“All for you, Kylo,” I whimpered before I could stop myself.

“Careful,” he rasped, “or I won’t let you come at all. I think you need a reminder, so I’ll twist your nipples between my fingers. Not gently, either, Lena.”

“Please, Kylo,” I bit the inside of my cheek, mentally shouting down the curses that were bubbling up, trying to ignore the sting coursing through my sensitive skin.

“Excellent. I know how hard it is for you to take orders. You might need a little positive reinforcement.”

“Please.”

“Very well done. Now I know you’re a filthy woman, aren’t you, Lena? I know you want nothing more right now than for me to lose control. I know you need to feel my cock stretching you, filling you completely. Am I correct?”

I let out a pathetic whine.

“Am I correct?”

“Yes, Kylo.”

“You’re dripping wet.”

“Yes.”

“Good. Then I’m going to start with three fingers inside you, all the way in,” he practically spat, adding, “up to the knuckle.”

I obeyed, trying to stay silent, but helpless to stop a low, long moan from escaping.

“You love it, don’t you? My fingers in you, curling up into that sweet spot that I know breaks you.”

“Yes.”

“You love it. Do you love it?”

“Yes, Kylo, yes, please,” I begged, my fingers completely curled up, afraid to move them any further, already so close to a release that I knew he wanted to dictate. Smug fucker.

“Are you close, Lena?”

“Yes,” I sobbed, weak and needy, undone beneath his command.

“So easy to please. You’re doing well, so I’ll let you come soon. My free hand is releasing your breast and letting it fall gorgeously back against your chest. I’m running two fingers over your hood, now, feeling your clit hot and pulsing between them. Does that feel good?”

“Yes.”

“I know it does. You’re so fucking close that it only takes a few hard circles against your clit to bring you all the way to the edge. Are you there?”

“Yes, Kylo, yes,” I cried out, shouting his name like a prayer to the ceiling.

“Come for me, my beauty.”

“Oh – fuck,” I felt the first wave overtake me before my mind went blank, bleating his name without intention, the static of the transmission disappearing in the haze of pleasure taking over, washing over me. A few brief, blissful seconds of perfection before my eyes snapped back open to the sound of a rumbling, self-satisfied laugh coming over the commlink.

“I love the way you say my name, Lena. I love the way you worship me.”

“Don’t be an ass, Kylo.” I tried to sound annoyed. It was almost certainly unsuccessful.

By the time my legs felt solid enough to stand on, I realised the water had long since gone cold. I stepped out of the tub, shaking my hair of any loose moisture, before reaching for a luxuriously soft towel.

“Are you feeling at all relaxed?”

“I feel fucking marvelous, sweetheart.”

“I wouldn’t expect any less,” he sounded deservedly proud for a moment, before softening slightly, “you should get some rest.”

“And what about you?”

“Not to worry, Lena. I’m sure I’ll see you in my dreams.”

“Thanks, Kylo. You’re a lifesaver.”

“For you, my beauty, anything. Now go to sleep.”

“Goodnight, my knight.”

“Goodnight, my grail.”

“Asshole. Stay safe, babe.”

 I ended the transmission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Srsly yall unless u tell me some kinks ur gonna get hella dirty talk for the rest of this fic.


	17. Administrative Planning and 38th Century Intergalactic Romanticism (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Rule the twenty-fifth, that a true lover considers nothing good except what he thinks will please his beloved.  
> Rule the twenty-sixth, that love can deny nothing to love.  
> Rule the twenty-seventh, that a lover can never have enough of the solaces of his beloved."  
> \- From Andreas Capellanus's 'Guide the Courtly Love,' late 12th century. (hella misogynistic 100% hilarious read I recommend)

“Mittens. It’s been too long.”

“You don’t sound very pleased.”

“I’m not.”

“I could hardly blame you. It must be a very taxing time.”

“It is, and the transfer’s not helping.”

“You could have relegated the logistics to someone else quite easily.”

_Well, yes, I could, but I really don’t need sour-faced generals skulking around anywhere near my quarters._

“If I’ve learned anything in my time with the Order, it’s not to leave any task that requires more than an iota of brain matter to subordinates. Speaking of iotas of brain matter, how is the Red Menace?”

“I’m fine, thank you, Lena.”

“General! So nice to catch up and see you, in that order. How can I help you on this fine perpetual winter’s day?”

“I’d suspect you’re glad of that. Has there been any word on when he returns?”

“No idea. If I hear anything, you’ll be the first to know.”

* * *

“You’re back? Holy shit, you’re back!”

Either he’d swept in without me noticing, or I’d now spent so much of my life editing the same five seconds of footage that my brain had ascended to a realm beyond the constraints of linear time. Weighing each option, I went with the less distressing one.

“I wasn’t able to send a message ahead.”

“Who cares? You’re here, that’s I care about.”

I rushed into him, squeezing as much air out of his lungs as I could until he stuttered out - 

“I brought you a gift.”

“Is it Hux’s severed head?”

He beamed down at me, lightly squeezing my shoulder before thrusting the present into my hands.

“Not quite.”

“Paper?”

He laughed, softly. “Take a closer look.”

I flipped through them, four sheets of yellowed, curling paper, each printed, four pairs of dark, intense eyes staring triumphantly up at me from the seat of a rearing horse.

“Where did you get these?” I breathed, not taking my eyes off them.

“Do you like them?”

“Did you loot a museum?”

“Of course not,” he said, his fingers now tangled in my hair, “I looted an archive.”

“Oh, I absolutely love you, Ky,” I said, rising from my seat so quickly he jolted back, startled.

“One second, dearest,” I kissed him on the cheek before dashing through the corridors to our bedroom, crouching down to the input the four-digit code into the small safe and taking out the last of the Napoleons. Kylo had offered to have it framed and hung ages ago. I declined. Rushing back with it as quickly as I dared, I took the other four from out of Kylo’s hands and spread them across my desk before stepping back.

“I never thought I’d have the complete set,” I whispered, melting into Kylo’s side. He smelled like old blood and crisp air. He rested his head against mine and wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me into him. I couldn’t stop staring, I was honestly, truly, inconceivably awestruck, completely lost in beauty until I felt Kylo’s jaw digging into my scalp.

“Are you going to answer my question?” he asked.

“I already forgot it, honestly.”

“Do you like them?”

I sighed and tore my eyes away, turning to drown myself in layers of flowing black robes. Kylo held me tightly, eyes stretched wide and begging for approval. I felt his hands at the small of my back and buried my face in his chest.

“This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

I wasn't lying, either.

“I missed you terribly.”

“Same here,” I said, losing all eloquence, concentrating my brainpower on trying not to cry.

We held each other tightly, swaying slightly from side to side. After my breathing slowed and I felt sufficiently in control of my tear ducts, I pushed him backwards with all my strength and, caught off guard, he stumbled backwards a few paces.

“I guess the question now is,” I drawled, prowling forward, “how can I ever repay you?”

He smiled and wound his hands in my hair before pulling me into a rough and fevered kiss, his tongue forcing its way between my lips as my hands scrabbled to gain some purchase on his thick, dark robes, the metal grommeting of his boots digging into the soles of my feet. Lost in the kiss, I only barely registered his feet shifting beneath me, carrying me with him before he slammed me into the wall. He pulled away for a moment and ripped my pants off one leg, leaving a small pool of silk around my heel.

Between four hands working almost barbarically to rip away the truly disgusting layers of clothing Kylo insisted on wearing, we reached a state which I believe the experts call ‘functionally naked.’ The ruched-up fabric of my skirt rubbed along the tops of my thighs as Kylo’s fingers dove into me, curling toward my navel and digging the heel of his wrist into my clit. My left hand was splayed out against the wall, seeking something to grab onto while my right pumped his dick, the precum fucking dripping down his length.

“Fuck, Kylo, just fuck me already.”

“Sure you can take it?”

“Always.”

With that reassurance all the permission he needed, he hoisted me up, forcing me to wrap my legs around him for balance. He drove into me relentlessly, my mind empty but for the sound of Kylo’s grunting in my ear and the feeling of his nails digging red grooves into my hips. His pace was furious and unabating, and when he began roughly circling my clit with his harsh, calloused thumb, I could feel the familiar heat bubbling up.

“Oh, fuck, Kylo, I’m gonna –“ I cut myself off before the orgasm hit, groaning into a mouthful of his cowl and biting down so hard I thought it might tear away. While I rode out the aftershocks, it only took a few more deep, harsh thrusts for Kylo to come so hard I’m sure there were some confused sperm wandering around my fucking pancreas.

The two of us crumpled into a dishevelled heap of generally unsavoury fluids on the floor, hearts pounding and limbs tangled. I tugged on Kylo’s sleeve.

“Bed?”

“Not right now. Let’s stay here.”

“But it’s drafty.”

“I don’t care,” he said, pinning me into his chest and wrapping his discarded robe around the both of us, “I’m not moving.”

“So I can’t?”

“No.”

His breathing was still heavy, his hands still running up and down my sides, making up for lost time. I wiggled my way free and turned to face him, pulling a few strands of hair from his face before offering a kiss.

“So I see your little expedition hasn’t changed you for the better.”

He didn’t respond at first, eyes glazed over in sated lust and contentment. But then the lazy smile faded from his face, and he raised one hand to stroke my cheek.

“I love you.”

_Shit. Shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit -_

What people say after sex doesn’t really count, right? It’s like credits spent while wasted, it’s not like you’re really you when it happened, so sober you can’t be held accountable. So why not?

“I - I love you, Ky.”

That was the first time the Kylo Ren, ultra-magic Force wielder and wanna-be contender for title of Galaxy’s Scariest Dude, cried in over a decade. I made a promise to myself it would also be the last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not my best work, but trust me it's necessary


	18. Blind Obedience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But what is one to say to an act of destructive ferocity so absurd as to be incomprehensible, inexplicable, almost unthinkable; in fact, mad? Madness alone is truly terrifying, inasmuch as you cannot placate it either by threats, persuasion, or bribes." - Mr Vladimir, Joseph Conrad's 'The Secret Agent'

It became part of my routine, after a fashion. Wake up, _I love you_ ; grab lunch _, I love you_ ; get a drink, _I love you,_ get several more drinks, cry, fall asleep at my desk, wake up in bed, _I love you_.

If I repeated it enough times, maybe he would believe it. If I repeated it enough times, maybe I would believe it. At the very least the words formed a stable mantra in my mind when everything else was utter chaos.

I had my suspicions when Rodinon didn’t arrive with Hux’s favoured personnel, instead opting to make the transfer to Starkiller a week later with a shipload of non-combatants deemed high-priority enough to be evacuated from the increasingly at-risk Finalizer.

They were confirmed when Doesthe 3 reported fifty-four deaths from apparent poisoning in its capital in a matter of days. It was my turn to sound the crisis alert.

I stood, shoulders hunched and nails scraping the surface of the table, the usual passive-aggressive contempt replaced with a blinding rage. He was lucky there was a table between himself and the bomb ready to go off. I would have strangled him if he were in choking distance.

_\- I love you._

“Congratulations. You’ve created a lone agent who’s going to get us all killed. You should be very proud of yourself.”

“If we had gone through with the plan I originally proposed that you rejected, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”

“Life is full of what-ifs, general. What matters is the what-is. Rodinon and whatever cronies he has working for him need to be taken out by whatever means necessary before he decides to take on any more of your brilliant plans. Colonel?”

“Yes, Miss Alyan.”

“I want a bounty put on Rodinon’s head. Preferably alive, I’d like to have the pleasure of gutting him myself.”

“Yes, Miss Alyan.”

“In the meantime we use this to leverage a disarmament agreement from the Republic, the reports coming from their department of information are showing some pretty alarming talk on the senate floor. And since our previous ambassador has gone and created such a wonderful castro-fuck, we’ll be sending someone else. Someone we can trust. Lieutenant Mitaka?”

My eyes shifted from burning holes through the general to meet Mitaka’s deceptively doe-eyed gaze.

“You leave tomorrow for a coalition crisis meeting. Don’t worry about your safety, I’ve had two assassins and a bodyguard put in the First Order entourage. Some of us,” I said, not bothering to mask to slightest bit of rage, “make plans before rushing headlong into disaster.”


	19. How Do You Solve a Problem Like Rodinon?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘We have burned their villages, we have crucified their leaders, we have enslaved their young, the fires go out, the dead are buried, the slaves die slowly, but the hatred that we leave behind never dies. Hatred means wars.’ - Anthony Mann's Fall of Rome, 1964

 

Mitaka’s failure to broker an entente cordial didn’t come as any surprise. I would have expected better results had I asked him to rearrange the stars. Still, none of us had expected the negotiations to fail so spectacularly that what began as a walk-out of dissenting senators turned into a declaration of armed Resistance.

“What the hell are they resisting against? The rule of law? Autonomous government? It’s like a child being told they can’t have a new toy. That’s no way to run a fucking administration.”

“For once, Lena, we’re in perfect agreement.”

“We shouldn’t respond to this. It’ll just draw attention to it. Give them nothing to rail against, they’ll sound absolutely insane.”

“Ridiculous. They’ve already attacked civilian centres. We need to take action against these terrorists working for a dying plutocracy.”

“Right, and we’re the establishment working for a thriving plutocracy. We have nothing to gain by legitimising this little rebellion, and plenty to lose by it. Combat it if you want, but keep it deeply fucking covert.”

“I can only imagine how far you would have gone in life if you’d learned to hold your tongue.”

“Now’s not the time for your fantasies, general. We’re at quasi-war.”

* * *

In the late, long hours of the night when the night was at its bleakest and the stars at their brightest, I couldn’t sleep. Neither could Kylo. The two of us were sprawled over rumpled sheets, staring up in quiet companionship at the universe.

For maybe an hour, maybe more, the only sound I heard was the soft rhythm of his breathing and the rapping of fingertips against flesh.

“Can’t sleep?”

“No. Yourself?”

“Of course not.”

“Here,” he said, rolling over to smother me in his embrace until I relented and turned into him, our foreheads pressed against each other. As always, the stare of Kylo Ren, even a drained Kylo Ren, was bottomless and demanding, eyes a dark, almost discoloured amber and reddened. Still, they half-closed as I stroked his hair, relaxing into my touch.

“Feeling sleepy?”

“I wish.”

“Got something weighing on the brain?”

“Always.”

“What’s the matter?”

He sighed, his gaze shifting down for just a moment before he looked back into my eyes, worry and exhaustion showing through.

“If there is a war, I can’t guarantee your safety.”

“I think that’s the idea of war.”

“It would be no difficulty to get someone to teach you to fight, you know. Should it be necessary.”

“No thanks. Words are my weapons.”

“You could try actual weapons.”

“I’ve glassed a drunk before, does that count?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then no, no I have not.”

“I’m serious. If there’s an insurgency, you’ll be a target.”

“Of course. All high-ranking personnel are already under guard.”

“No, it’s not just that. The – the leader of the insurgency is my mother. The general is my mother.”

“Your mother’s alive?”

His brow furrowed slightly, eyes narrowing in confusion, but before he could respond the shriek of my datapad’s alarm system cut him off.

“Oh, shit,” I inhaled, eyes scanning the alert notification.

“Another debacle?”

“Rodinon’s been captured. They’ll have him on Starkiller within six hours.”

“What is Hux planning to do?”

“Who the fuck knows? That’s to be decided. There’s a council meeting in an hour.”

“So I’m needed.”

“Yes. I’m going to shower and try to make myself presentable. You should arrive at least five minutes before I do.”

“We’ll make sure he hangs. For your sake.”

“I love you, darling.”

* * *

I breezed into the cavernous conference room that could probably seat a few hundred more than the dozen or so of us sat huddled in the centre, and was pleased to see Kylo had done as I requested. He was wedged between Phasma and Mitaka, the blank slate of his mask not turning to acknowledge my entrance.

“Alright, let’s keep it brief. Do we execute him with dignity or make good use of him?”

 “A public execution would create terror in the ranks.”

“Isn’t that what you were suggesting earlier, general? Or did both Rodinon and myself misunderstand you?”

I’d love to say I could recall the exact details of the next five or so minutes, but my attention was compromised by the feeling of a phantom hand creeping its way up my leg. My arguments were, shall we say, less than coherent.

_Kylo, you really know how to pick your moments, don’t you?_

“-has accomplices who won’t be cowed-“

“-acting in what he believed the be the best interests of the Order-“

_Fucking stop._

The sensation briefly stopped, a tingling resting at the crease of my thighs before resuming, trailing its way to –

_Kylo, stop._

“- not interested in creating a martyr figure –“

“- shows the regime won’t crumble in the face of adversity-“

“- shows the regime susceptible to infiltrators –“

_Kylo, you need to stop_.

I felt a pressure inside me as some…thing decided to prove its way into my cunt.

_Kylo, I won’t so much as touch you for a fucking month if you don’t stop._

He finally left off before stroking my thigh with an immaterial hand one last time.

_You’re the worst. I love you._

Now fully regained of my sense and complexion, I had the genius initiative to try a new tactic.

“Let’s table the final solution to the Rodinon question, okay? How are we gonna deal with the fallout? I vote we subject him to interrogation.”

“We’re not going to torture him, there’s no point in it.” Hux was both disgusted and scandalised. In other words, Hux.

Kylo spoke for the first time, the robotic rasp of his voice modulator rendering his gorgeous, honied voice into a low drone.

“It could be fun.”

“…It could be fun,” I seconded, turning expectantly to the general.

“The lieutenant should be submitted for interrogation,” he added, “assuming he’s retained any mental faculty.”

_I love you._

“The commander makes an excellent point,” Mitaka interrupted before I could speak, “we don’t know how large his network of associates is. Some might prove useful.”

“Well, general?”

He hesitated for a moment, before resigning himself to the inevitable.

“Very well. We’ll continue the discussion of Rodinon’s eventual…fate at another time. Until then, there are more urgent matters which need to be addressed. Adjourned.”

_Amazing, I can (try to) sleep again._

But before I reached the door, I felt a gloved hand on my shoulder and turned to see _that fucking mask_ leering over me.

“Miss Alyan. I need to speak with you, immediately.”

“Sure thing, commander.”


	20. There Will Be (Some) Blood (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Now listen, you queer, stop calling me a crypto-Nazi or I'll sock you in your goddamn face, and you'll stay plastered." - William F. Buckley to Gore Vidal on live television during coverage of the DNC, 1968

The ‘commander’ and I walked in lockstep down the corridor, both staring (I assumed) straight ahead. It was a few twists and turns of winding, monotonous hallways that quickly emptied out, leaving just the two of us.

“Here,” came through the mask, and with a flick of his hand, the door slid open. I followed him in, already beginning to regret giving in to his fancy.

As soon as we were well and truly alone, Kylo had thrown off his mask, letting it hit the floor with an ungodly loud thud. Before I could move he had me pinned against the wall by the hair with one hand, the other furiously fumbling with his trousers. He didn’t speak until his head jerked back up to look at me, moving his hand from its entanglement in my hair to grip my jaw. His eyes were glowing unnatural amber in the soft darkness of the storage cupboard. This was not my Kylo, this was a man possessed.

“I hate the way he looks at you,” he snarled, eyes flashing anger and lust.

_Oh, you are fucking kidding me._

“Like he’s paying attention?”

“You don’t see what I see,” he grunted out before tearing the glove off his free hand with his teeth, and snaking it up under my blouse to pull down my bra.

“You have no idea what kinds of things he’d do to you if he was given the opportunity – but I do,” he growled, predatory, into my ear.

“Is this on the list?”

“No. This is for me. Look at me.”

“I am looking at you.”

He pinched my nipple harshly and tightened the hold of his fingers on my jaw, digging into the flesh.

“Look me in the eyes.”

I didn’t really have a choice in the matter. His voice, aggressive and animalistic, dropped to a hoarse whisper dripping with emotion. You could use that to fill a psychiatrist’s wallet until the end of recorded time.

“You’re my woman, right?”

“I guess.”

He bit the base of my neck hard, drawing a small trickle of blood that threatened to stain my shirt before he lapped it away. With his teeth poised to strike again, he spoke again.

“Say it.”

“Say what?”

He shifted against me, and I could feel him hard against me even through his robes. He sucked against my skin like a fucking leech, drawing blood to darken to surface. Still, he broke his hold, now gently running a thumb over my cheek as he moved his ungloved hand to slip in between my thighs. I was more aroused than I’d care to admit.

“You’re so wet already, Lena,” he

“That’s generally what happens, Kylo.”

He quieted any further conversation for a moment by slipping a leather-coated thumb between my lips, letting me taste the notes of earth and metal along the creases before swiping it over my bottom lip.

“What do you want?”

“You.” I answered as though he didn’t already know, and was rewarded with the feeling of two fingers curling up inside me.

“Then I’ll ask you again,” he said, breaking into a sly smirk when I let out a small whine, “you’re my woman. Right?”

“Obviously.”

“Tell me you are,” he said, sounding as frustrated as he was aroused.

“I’m yours, Kylo. All yours. Only yours,” I gripped his robes as the sensation of his fingers retreated to be replaced by his cock, so much wider, stretching and filling me so fucking completely. He paused for just a moment inside me, letting me feel the entirety of his length against my walls, before pulling himself back out, leaving only the tip remaining.

When he slammed back into me, all hints of gentleness were gone. He was pounding me into the wall, into submission, his hand, still slick, squeezing my breasts like a fucking juicer, his lips and teeth tearing holes and painting splotches on any scrap of unblemished skin. My legs were shaking under me, undone by the ferocity of my knight, forcing me to grip his cloak with my nails, clinging to the rough weave for dear life.

“Stars, Kylo, ease up a little,” I finally gasped out before he bit down on my earlobe, tugging it between his yellowed teeth, forcing a deep, low moan from the pit of my stomach as I drew closer to the edge of my orgasm. He didn’t listen.

“Someone’s going to hear us,” I whined.

He kept up his pace, almost bruising in its intensity, but finally found a better use for his mouth.

“Good. Let them.”

_See, this is why office romances are a terrible idea._

“My woman,” he repeated, the speed of his thrusts increasing, becoming more erratic as I rolled my hips against them, so fucking close.

“Come for me, Lena,” he demanded, rolling my nipple between his fingers and pulling my head back before I could stifle my scream by biting into him. It reverberated, bouncing off the walls of the storage cupboard. I sincerely doubt those walls are soundproofed.

That pushed him over, and with a final groan, he spilled himself into me, yanking my hair as his muscles clenched involuntarily. When he pulled out, a smear of cum dribbled along my thigh.

_Well, that’s going to leave a stain._

He braced himself against the wall with one arm, hair covering his face. I brushed it out of the way, still reaching up to kiss him as he came down from his release.

“Kylo, I am as I ever was, and ever shall be. Yours.”

He offered me a rare, genuine smile before regaining control of himself and strategically readjusting his cloak. He offered me a hand with my blouse, which now had significantly fewer buttons than an hour earlier, but I waved him away.

”Go ahead. I have some, uh, cleanup to take care of.”

“Until later.”

“Naturally,” I kissed him quickly before he re-fitted his helmet into place with a mechanical click and walked out in a flutter of heavy, flowing black fabric.

I waited a solid fifteen minutes before exiting the stock cupboard. It was easily time enough to fix my appearance and reclaim my durasteel façade before emerging.

Unfortunately, my internal clock had decided a massive ‘fuck you’ was in order, because as soon as I rounded a corner I was face to face with the general himself.

 “Lena! What serendipity. I need to speak with you.”

“Make it quick, I’m in a hurry.”

“Yes, you always know how to minimise our time together. I thank you for that.”

“No problem. What’s the fuss?”

“I actually needed to follow up on an old bone of contention.”

_I really hope that’s not what he calls his dick._

“Okay.”

“The timing of your departure from the Finalizer was awfully convenient, wasn’t it?”

 _Well, I guess not_ his _dick._

“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean.”

“I know all about your little dalliance with Ren. You’re very lucky that I’m the only one who knows.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t dream of it when you’ve clearly got the most unstable man in the galaxy eating out of your palm. It would serve you well to tread lightly, Lena. I doubt the Supreme Leader would take kindly to you interfering with his precious apprentice.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I’m sure you don’t. You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

“Neither do you.”

“Is this a physical affair or does he have feelings for you?”

“That’s not your concern.”

 “So he does. What about you?”

“That’s not your concern.”

I tried to push past him, but he pinned me against the wall by my collar, his eyes boring into my skull.

“What’s the truth, Lena?”

“There isn’t one.”

“No, not for you there isn’t.”

“Excuse me?” I wiggled free of his hand, readjusting my shirt.

“The First Order stands for something. You stand only for yourself, and when your companion finds that out, I doubt he’ll take it well.”

“Fuck off, Hux. I don’t need your proselytising.”

“I will say that you and he are suited to each other, you know.”

“And very happy together,” I snarled, forgetting my better judgement.

“I do hope you realise that the second you get in the way, he’ll have you killed if he doesn’t do it hims-“

I probably shouldn’t have punched him. At least, not so hard.

“Fuck off, you little ginger shit,” I spat, wheeling around to press him against the wall, one of his hands at his jaw in shock and pain. A smear of blood starting from the corner of mouth was spreading across his fingers, settling in fine lines around the knuckles.

“If you ever threaten me or him again, I will personally see to it that you find yourself having to answer for some very comprising images of you and a charming bantha named Princess. Back off.”

“You can’t blackmail me.” 

“Don’t think of it as blackmail. Think of it as me using an unjustified and unsubstantiated threat of public humiliation for personal gain. Now if you’ll excuse, I have far more pressing matters to attend to than your sex life.”

The light was only just beginning to creep over the horizon when I made it back to our quarters, one hand pulsing in pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this while more than a lil drunk and im still more than a lil drunk so if its as bad as i think it will be when i sober up, mea culpa


	21. I Was Strong-Armed Into It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "With one sort of attachment and another you are doing away with your usefulness." - Mr. Vladimir in Joseph Conrad's 'The Secret Agent'

Not a moment after the door swiped shut I was assaulted by a pair of very large arms wrapping around me from behind, trapping my hands at my sides.

“You took ages. Has something come up?”

“No, just got turned around. Corridors all look the same and I wasn’t exactly operating at full capacity. No thanks to you.”

“I’m not apologising.”

“No need,” I said, moving to break free of my stranglehold, but he pulled me back in, grabbing my hand in his own.

“Fucking hell!” I pulled my hand back in a flash, pain coursing through my arm.

“What’s wrong?” he’d backed away a few paces, probably to avoid being caught in the crossfire in case I made any more sudden movements.

“I think I broke my hand. No big deal.”

“How?”

“Don’t question it.”

“Who did this?”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“I got frustrated and hit a wall.”

_A very ginger wall._

“You need to go the medbay.”

“Nah, it’ll be fine.”

 “Give me your hand.”

Reluctantly, I held my hand out, letting him examine it.

“Go to the medbay.”

“No.”

“Lena, please go to the medbay or I’ll carry you there myself.”

“Fine. But not because you told me to.”

“Whatever you need to believe.”

* * *

The droid who attended to me after some hours of waiting around treated me in perhaps a quarter hour, putting my ring and middle fingers in splints. Just as I was preparing to leave, Kylo stormed in through the doorway, his gait unmistakable and heavy. Clomping, even.

Before I could greet him, he spoke, his voice a robotic monotone.

“The Supreme Leader has instructed me to summon you.”

“I don’t wanna talk to your boss right now, Kylo.”

“It’s not an option. And I won’t have you speak to me like that.”

“My apologies, commander,” I said, fighting the instinct to roll my eyes.

He escorted me out of the medbay, taking huge strides that I could only just keep up with.

“So what’s this about?”

“Misconduct, evidently.”

“Does he know about-“

“Yes, he has for quite some time.”

“You didn’t tell me?”

“It seemed unnecessary.”

“Okay, tabling that for later, what’s the issue, then?”

“Our favourite general is worried you’re a threat to the high command. Dangerous, even.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

“You did attack him.”

“He was being a dick! If anything, he should be the one answering to the bossman, not me.”

“That doesn’t matter now, Lena. You can’t unpunch people. How is your hand, by the way?”

“Just a sprain.”

“Very good.”

The remainder of the journey to wherever it was we were going was spent in silence, the only sounds came from the echo of Stormtrooper boots along metal floors and the swish of fabric when Kylo rounded a corner. After an excruciating amount of time, he stopped in front of a door, and for the second time in twenty-four hours, I crossed the threshold of Starkiller’s largest council chamber.

I crossed it. I didn’t walk in, frozen in place only a pace away from the door. At the far end of the room was a massive blue-grey person-shaped thing. It flickered occasionally, small bands of static falling out of place.

“Why is your boss a hologram?”

“I’ll explain later.”

He took my arm with no undue tenderness and nearly dragged me down the thing’s feet.

“Don’t speak again until spoken to,” he hissed at me. I don’t know if it heard him.

“Lena Alyan. The propagandist.

“Hey there….buddy.”

The thing shifted in its chair, crouching down until its face was so close I could reach out and swipe through it, which, while tempting, seemed like a bad idea. It squinted its already narrow eyes, and I tried my best to keep a blank face.

I had no way to know if it was satisfied with its inquiries or not, but it rose slowly, settling back on its throne.

“You’ve caused us quite a bit of trouble, haven’t you, girl?”

“I’m not a girl,” I spat out without thinking.

The hologram seemed to shift backwards, almost amused.

“Fiery,” it mused, turning slightly towards Kylo.

“I’m in the room.”

One massive hand rose to face me.

“Enough.”

_Well, okay._

“Are you certain about this, my apprentice?”

“Yes, master.”

“She has no ability with the Force.”

“I know, master.”

Even with the mask, I could tell he was nervous, his hands tangled together behind his back, feet set just too wide apart.

“Very well, it will be done. Miss Alyan, congratulations.”

The thing looked at me expectantly, a smug superiority washing over its disfigured features. I complied.

“Thank you, Supreme Leader.”

“You may go.”

Without another word, I walked out of the room as fast as my legs would carry me. It was not until I reached our quarters and the door swiped shut behind me that I caught my breath, chest heaving as slid down the door. For now, the vast majority of my mental capacity was focused on what the fuck had just happened and trying not to vomit.

I needed to speak to someone, to anyone else about this, but there was no one. Too sensitive for Mitaka, the only person I’d remotely considered discussing feelings with. Then I realised that maybe I didn’t have to talk to someone.

“Uh, hi. You don’t know me, but I sure know you, and I just really need to kind of talk things through you know, because…”

_So this is what it’s come to. Spilling my entire life story to a melted bucket._

* * *

I don’t know how long it was between my flight and Kylo’s arrival, but he announced himself with a heavy, gloved hand on the back of neck.

“How long have you been here?”

“I don’t know.”

He offered me a hand from my place on the floor, and I took it, letting him pull me up.

I followed him wordlessly to our bedroom, and stood dumbly as the robotic hiss that always accompanied the removal of that fucking helmet echoed through the still air.

Running his hands through his slightly-deflated hair, he smiled warmly at me.

“What were you doing? Seeking my grandfather’s blessing?”

“Something like that.”

He finally decided his hair was now satisfactory again, and swept me into his arms, nuzzling my neck.

“What’s wrong? You’ve been completely absolved. We’re together. I thought you’d be happy.”

“I’m still processing everything.”

“As am I.”

“Why did you lie?”

“I didn’t lie to the Supreme Leader, that would be suicide.”

“Yes, you did. It asked if you were certain.”

“I am. Be glad he didn’t ask you. If you had said no, he would have had you killed,” Kylo’s voice became colder even as he pulled me closer. “If you would rather be dead than betrothed, I’m certain it can be arranged.”

“Don’t be like that.”

“Caring? Loving? What would you have me be?”

“Quiet.”

“Very well.”

He scooped his helmet up in one arm, and marched out of the room as quickly as he’d come in. I slept alone that night.

The next day I woke up with a message from the general on my datapad. I opened it, and was confronted with the flickering image of an entire room of wrecked and ravaged metal. I waved it away as quickly as possible, afraid to confront the fallout.

In curling script below, he’d written:

_Congratulations on your engagement._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is even happening in this fic anymore my outline did not prepare me for this


	22. The Lady or the Tiger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm gonna leave the stage with my head held fucking high, right? What you're going to see is a masterclass in fucking dignity, son. The audience will be on their feet. "There he goes," they'll say, "No friends, no real friends, no children, no glory, no memoirs...", well, fuck them." - Malcolm Tucker, 'The Thick of It,' series 4 episode 7, on his forced resignation

I have been here before, in the middle of a sleepless night spent watching my fall from grace play out in front of millions.

_Lena Alyan, main architect of the new laws that have seen the incarceration rates of former verterans nearly double in the last three months-_

_Earned the nickname ‘Arachne’ among fellow aides on the campaign trail-_

_Lena Alyan, the new administration’s deputy head of communications-_

_Allegations are swirling around the involvement of a senior government official’s involvement in a bill that has been blamed for the suicides of at least-_

_The minister for human development commented on the controversy surrounding the involvement of a top party official in formulating what was represented as nonpartisan legislation-_

_In less than a year this administration has seen its approval ratings fall dramatically-_

_“The most disastrous piece of legislation in over a century,” that comment came from Council Elder Nitzahni earlier today-_

I couldn’t look away, not yet. It was still my job to staunch the bleeding, even if it meant amputating an arm. I put in a call, typing in the familiar numbers without looking away from the screen.

“Ignatius? It’s the most hated woman in the Confederation. Tell the bossman I’m resigning.”

I have been here before. But now I have nowhere to run to.

My hope was that if I spent enough time curled up in bed that Kylo would just come back. Or maybe I’d wake up and shake off this nightmare like I could the suffocating weight of my lover in the early morning. But there was no such luck. I don’t know if hours or days passed as I drifted in and out of sleep.

I wanted to hide from my problems, I really, truly did. But he didn’t come back. He didn’t come back, and I didn’t know where he was, and he could have been with that thing that had fucked over me – had fucked over us – and I didn’t want to entertain that thought. So I got up. I made myself presentable. I faced the world.

 

 

“Hux, I need to use your tracker thing.”

However long I’d been out of commission was enough time for the general’s face to return to normal, save some yellow discolouring. I should have hit him harder, maybe taken out a tooth.

“Trouble in paradise?” he asked in a disgusting sing-song, before handing over the device.

“No. This is a sex thing. We get off on destroying the things you love. I’m throwing this into a cave,” I purred into his ear before darting out of the room.

* * *

 

The cold was a shock to my system at first, but I’d gone too far from the base entrance now to turn back. The tracker wasn’t as precise as I’d hoped, but it was all I had to go on.

“Kylo!” I shouted, over and over til I was almost hoarse. It was like searching for a lost pet more than a person.

My feet were soaking wet with snow that had crept in through the seam of my boots, and my hair, tangled and wind-whipped, wouldn’t stay out of my eyes. But at long last, I saw the figure in black below me at the bottom of snowbank. He was unmasked, but fully dressed.

 _At least he’s been keeping warm_ was the first thought that popped into my head.

Then I realised I had no idea what I was going to say. So I started with the obvious.

“Kylo!” I shouted to him, making my way down as carefully as I could. He stopped moving, stuck in place, before turning to face me.

“Kylo, please come inside.”

“I’m thinking,” he yelled, not coming any closer.

“Can you not think indoors?”

“Lena, I need to be alone.”

“You can be alone indoors. You’ll freeze out here.”

“And what’s that to you?”

“If we’re gonna fight, I’d rather fight inside.”

I reached out to grab him and drag him back into the warmth with me, but before I could so much as touch the fabric of his cowl, my hand froze in mid-air.

I tried to speak, but couldn’t. _I have a mouth, but I can’t scream._

He dropped something in the snow and kicked it away before turning to me, eyes blazing and chest heaving.

“I’ll be back at nightfall. Leave me be until then.”

He paused briefly, stepping a few paces back in the heavy snow.

“If you’re not in our quarters by the time I return, I would understand.”

“I love you, darling.”

He nodded, raising his hand and flicking his wrist. My arm fell, the blood rushing painfully back into the extremities.

I shuffled away, slowly, each step painful, thinking as loud as I could over and over again:

_I love you, I love you, I love you._

The normally stagnant air of the base felt like the most luxurious steam bath, the kind that minister’s wives would get while their husbands were off with the newest mistress.

I grabbed my datapad from the bedroom and sat down to only the work that had to be done, watching the windows all the while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a weird chapter to write - originally it was like 2,000 words of backstory until I remembered that yeah, that's not really the story I'm telling. To get back in the groove I made a bunch of character playlists - you can find them all here:, each one is about an hour long:  
> http://starkillainmanila.tumblr.com/post/143015342786/i-got-bored-and-started-making-playlists-for-the


	23. Nightfall (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The sad truth is that most evil is done by people who never make up their minds to be good or evil." - Hannah Arendt, 1978

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight dubcon brah

An indefinite number of hours and glasses of whiskey later a welcome shadow cast itself over me. I dropped my still near-full glass on the table beside the bed.

“It’s sweltering in here.”

Kylo was stood in the doorway, back against the frame, half glaring at me.

I shrugged.

“I thought you’d be cold. Of course,” I said, stumbling-slinking towards him, “there are better ways to warm up.”

“How much have you had?”

“Irrelevant.”

“Lena-“

“Shhhh, shhh, shh,” I put one hand over his mouth, stroking his chest with the other. “I won’t dress it up, okay? I’m tired, I’m wasted, and I love you, darling. Let’s fuck.”

I got no response except a narrowing of his eyes and a firm grip wrenching my hand away. I buried my head into his chest, avoiding his eyes.

“Kylo,” I pleaded, “please. I need to know you still want me.”

“What?”

“Don’t make me repeat it. Please.”

His thumb wormed its way between my cheek and his chest, stroking my jaw.

“What do you need? What do you want?” His voice was growing thicker, huskier.

_It’s working._

“I need you to fuck the last week out of my head.”

It was a few moments before he spoke.

“…I can do that.”

“Oh, thank fuck.”

I reached up to undo the fastenings of his cloak, but he caught it before I could, interlacing his fingers with mine.

“But we do it my way.”

“Works for me.”

“No more words.”

I shrugged. He rolled his eyes, but relented.

“Close enough. Now – strip.”

I did as he asked, stepping carefully out of my loose shift dress (a gift from Kylo) and reached around to unclasp my bra. When I risked a glance up to read his face, he was still leaning impassively against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. He looked bored.

“Get on with it.”

So I did. When I was completely nude before him, he finally stepped forward, his boots sinking into the deep burgundy of the floor rug. With his hands clasped behind his back, he circled me slowly, running one gloved hand up the length of my spine.

After a few of these orbits I found myself looking away from him, my eyes downcast. For a moment, at least.

“No. Look at me.”

He had stopped in front of me, staring down with eyes that were tempestuous and muddied like murky swampwater, predatory and unpredictable. Even when he was overwhelmed by lust, he wasn’t like this. He was always teasing, his eyes glittering and flashing, at one moment half-closed in pleasure and in the next wide and enquiring from between my legs. Not now. The look in his eyes was almost sobering (almost).

“You want this?”

I nodded.

“I knew. On the bed. Hands and knees.”

I obeyed, feeling incredibly exposed. When I felt his weight settle behind me and heard the clatter of metal buckling being undone, I had to close my eyes and block out the sound as best I could, trying to just breathe.

And then, without any warning, I felt three fingers enter me, jammed in roughly. I gasped at the sensation, my eyes flying open. Kylo snorted and withdrew.

“Change of heart? Wouldn’t be the first time.”

I whipped my head back to respond, but he jerked it back into place before I could, settling one hand, hot and calloused, on my neck. He pushed my head down, my view reduced to only the soft black of the bedsheets.

“I don’t think you get a choice this time.”

I inhaled sharply as he slid into me, each movement a painful stretch as I stressed myself out trying to relax my muscles.

He hesitated for only a moment before pounding into me without any reprieve, each thrust of his cock slamming us together with the sordid slap of skin against skin sounding in muffled echoes through the room.

“Am I not enough for you?” he growled out in between thrusts, never slowing his relentless drive into me.

My hands were sweating, fisting the wrinkled sheets as I was fucked mercilessly into the bed.

“Is this what you wanted?” he was yelling now, probably loud enough for half the base to hear, “Did you want to be fucked like the bitch you are?”

“Fuck – Kylo,” I finally moaned out, drunk on the sensation of him pistoning in and out of me. It took a few seconds to realise that the harsh smack and stinging sensation from my ass was probably closely connected with this. He’d never done that before.

“Did I tell you to fucking speak?”

“How could I possi- ow, fuck!” Another smack, this one harder, landed in the same place, the pain almost enough to distract me from overwhelming pleasure. When his nails dug in to the abused skin I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood.

“If you want to talk so bad,” he was snarling at me, his voice half-lost in lust and half in contempt, “then tell me who you need.”

He didn’t give me a chance to respond before yanking my hair back and hissing into me ear.

“Tell me who you belong to.”

“You,” I sobbed out.

“Who is it you need?”

“You.”

“Don’t tell me. Tell them. Let everyone know that you need me, that you need this.”

He released his hold on my hair, and as I fell forward back onto the bed, I cried out as loud as I dared –

“Fuck, Kylo, I need you. I’m yours, Kylo.”

“Wicked tongue. Tell them who you belong to. Make sure they can hear you, Lena.”

I curled my fingers into the sheets beneath me, trying to steady the rhythm of my breathing against his deep, unforgiving pounding into me, and shrieked.

“My body belongs to Kylo Ren!”

From behind me came a short grunt, almost a bark, and the feeling of hips rolling and grinding into mine as Kylo came. Before he could completely collapse and trap me under him, I rolled to the side and took his hand.

“Shower.”

“But-“

“Shower.”

I was standing now, and pulled him up on his feet before he could protest further. It wasn’t until the water was cascading down from the ceiling that he spoke again.

“But you didn’t-“

“I know.”

He moved in, closing the distance between us. His eyes were a soft golden-brown again, shining like molten metal. His fingers trickled down my body slowly before they stopped, perched just above my clit.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to?” he asked.

“I’m not gonna stop you,” I said, offering him a kiss before leaning out of the falling water and letting him take over. But no relief came.

“What’s the matter, my darling? Oh – oh,” I looked down to where his gaze was settled, his eyes now clouded. He reached out one hand, just barely brushing his fingertips over the mass of blue-black at my hips.

“Did I…?” he trailed off, standing up once again and leaving me to fill in the blanks.

“It’s nothing we haven’t done before.”

“But I didn’t mean to do that – it looks like,” he was stumbling, trying to voice thoughts he’d rather not have to consider, “did I hurt you?”

“Nothing a little bedrest won’t fix,” I soothed, reaching up as far as I could to kiss his neck. There was no point in lying. “And I can’t say the same about what I’ve done to you, so just – just don’t worry about it.”

“No. I’ve scared you.”

“Oh, please. I hate to break this to you, sweetheart, but you’re just not scary. Death is scary. Prison is scary. You’re not scary.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but I raised a finger to his lips, shushing him.

“Bed. We need to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I quote The Room? Yes, I quoted the Room and I have no shame.


	24. Let's Talk About Feelings, Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It is sometimes possible to change the attitudes of millions but impossible to change the attitude of one man." - Edward Bernays, qtd in The Art of Propaganda, 1998

After throwing on one of his old shirts and settling down, cross-legged with the reclaimed whiskey in one hand, I waited for Kylo to emerge. He seemed more than a little shaken by his own outburst, so I arranged my hair as well I could to hide the purple splotches that were already darkening on my neck.

When he finally came out he again hesitated at the door until I waved him over and forced him to come in closer, resting his head on my thigh.

“You take the glass, I’m taking the bottle.”

“I would rather not.”

“Do you wanna hash this out or not? Cause I’m gonna need to not remember anything about this conversation when I wake up. Probably the best thing for you, too.”

“One glass.”

“That’s what they all say. Here.”

He sat up just long enough to drain three (ok, four) fingers in one go, coughing slightly as it went down, before returning back to my lap. I ran my fingers through his damp hair, trying my best to be reassuring, conciliatory.

As I was formulating my speech in between what I would describe as ladylike swigs of whiskey, he surprised me.

“If it’s really such a horrifying prospect, I could probably sneak you away. You could return to…wherever it is you’re from.”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily. Believe me, you don’t have to worry about me going anywhere.”

He sighed, glancing up with eyes melancholy like a winter moon.

“At the moment, you could leave. If you wanted to. I don’t know if that will be true in the future.”

“It’s not up to me anymore. No, not – I don’t mean that,” I said, seeing him about to protest, “there’s nowhere for me to go back to.”

I gulped down another mouthful before throwing my head back to the ceiling.

“I didn’t join up because of some grand ideal like you did.”

“I know that.”

“No, I’m not finished,” I said, extracting my hand from his hair and putting it to my temple, trying to will the words out of my brain.

“Look, I made some bad decisions, and some bad alliances, and I got fucked over. I can’t go back to the Confederation because I was declared an enemy of the state. There’s a warrant out for my arrest if I ever show my face there again. It’s at least twenty years locked away if I were ever tried.”

“If you were tried?”

“Assuming I don’t end up killed by some soldier’s wife who believes every fucking word that drips past the lips of the sycophants who dicked me out of a career.”

I shrugged and lifted the bottle again, but Kylo’s hand caught my arm. I set it down in between my legs and let him lace his fingers in mine before tearing away.

“I’m not saying I’m innocent, I’m just not more guilty than anyone else. Know what I mean?”

“I suppose.”

“So no.”

“Is that when you started drinking?”

“No, I started drinking when I was fourteen and needed something to dull the noise in my head. Then I continued to drink because it makes me fun and a genius.”

“That works?”

“Not in the least.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry that I hurt you, I really am. But I’m not going anywhere. I can’t.”

“Would you?”

“I don’t know. I mean, yes, I love you, but I don’t want to get married. There is room in life for shades of grey, you dig?”

“It’s the will of-“

“But is it your will, Kylo?”

”I have no reason to doubt the wisdom of the Supreme Leader. It is.”

“Uh, no. No, no no no no. Pizzas can be supreme. Beings can be supreme, even girl groups can be supreme. Humanoid lizard behemoths are not supreme. What is it that you want?”

“I’ve already chosen what I want.”

“You weren’t given a choice. Neither was I.”

 “You could either live or die. I chose to let you live.”

“No. You’re – you’re not listening, you’re not understanding. Yeah, it asked you a question, but it framed the scenario in extremes. Life or death. One or the other. That’s not choice, that’s coercion. Fourth principle of propaganda, bitch. That’s how I got my guy elected by a nine point margin. It’s manipulative. That beast is manipulating you. Like brain putty.”

“And what makes you any different?”

I thought I had a speech, but my mouth and the alcohol had different ideas. I babbled out, tripping over my already inelegant words:

“Firstly, I’m not a sentient bathtub wrinkle. Secondly, I – I don’t have any big plan or legacy or agenda. I’m just trying not to fuck up badly enough to be tried for war crimes. That’s the plan. But then, like, I met you, and I love you, Kylo. I love you, and I love your ambition, and I love your passion, and – I’ve just never seen you like that before, you just seemed so drained and it was, like, a real shock to the system, you know? Like a bottle to the back of the head, it just really fucks up your mind for a while, you know? It didn’t feel like you, and well, you’re kind of all I’ve got right now.”

“I can’t change my loyalties because they unsettle you.”

“Sorry, did I ask you to?”

“It was certainly implied.”

“Whatever. Just – just know that I love you. And I’m stuck with you.”

I finished the whiskey. There wasn’t enough in the world for this.

“I do love you, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, I love you, I know,” I slid down the bed to lie beside him, curling into chest.

“I have a proposition.”

“You’ve had too much.”

“Not that kind.”

He huffed a little in fake annoyance, but let me continue.

“I do solemnly swear to love all the various Kylos contained herein unconditionally,” I swore, gesticulating wildly, “on the condition that my Kylo is the only one I have to see on a regular basis.”

He smiled and shook his head before kissing me on the forehead.

“You can’t conditionally unconditionally love someone.”

“Well, that’s what I just did, so suck it.”

“Fine. I agree to your terms on my condition that I don’t have to put up with bottle-of-whiskey Lena on a regular basis.”

“Joke’s on you, Lancelot, I didn’t drink the whole bottle.”

“Minus one glass.”

“You drive a hard bargain. I love you.”

“You’ve told me.”

“Repetition’s the first principle of propaganda, bitch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got more than a lil drunk to write this, too, bc holy shit do I not write about emotions. Any egregious typos should please please please be pointed out to yt.


	25. Intro to Genealogy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We are governed, our minds are molded, our tastes formed, our ideas suggested, largely by men we have never heard of." - Introduction to Edward Bernay's Propaganda, 1928

“Useless.”

“I don’t know what it is you expected, Ren,” Hux sneered, contempt dripping from his every syllable.

“Your flirting leaves a lot to be desired, general, but-“ I held up one hand, hoping it would quell the undeniable erotic charisma between the two men, “that aside, that means there’s no reason to keep the lieutenant alive. He’s just a liability. I say we call him a Resistance affiliate and kill him for the proverbial cameras.”

“That’s not your decision to make,” his response came a little too quickly. I leaned back in my chair and surveyed the half-dozen or so faces waiting for a comeback.

“Yeah, it’s not, but it is yours, and would you rather be seen as a petty tyrant picking and choosing favourites at will, or as a steadfast commander who makes difficult choices? It’s up to you, really. Unless you want to let some personal trifle get in the way.”

He pursed his lips further, his brain clearly working to find some way to agree without admitting defeat.

“It’s kind of a shame, honestly. I’m sure some of us would love to watch him rot for years on end, slowly losing all concepts of time and humanity. But not our merciful general, here. Adjourned?”

Hux raised his eyebrows slightly, seemingly biting back a tirade.

“Adjourned.”

* * *

 

Post-coital Kylo was, without a doubt, the easiest to talk to about anything, mostly because post-coital Kylo was the only one willing to string more than a few sentences together. Always pick your moments well, especially when you have to break bad news.

“Hux wants to send some double agents to spy on your mother. Tracking devices, that kind of shit.”

“Let him,” he mumbled, shifting from sprawled out on his stomach to throw one arm around my waist, “he knows better than to try anything too obvious.”

“I had to talk him down from sending assassins. It’s just intelligence people.”

“Your people.”

“Yeah, four of them.”

“You would sacrifice the Order’s success for the sake of my family. My estranged family.”

“I guess.”

“That’s an incredibly foolish decision.”

“I know,” I sighed, choosing to interpret the feeling of one hand lightly travelling up and down my spine as a small, unmentionable token of thanks.

“I wouldn’t do the same, you know.”

“I’d hope not.”

“Have you told them?”

“Huh?”

“The Alyans. Do they know about us?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Are you going to tell them?”

“We’re not really on speaking terms on account of the whole ruining the family name by becoming an enemy of the state thing.”

“I find that tends to happen,” he half-grinned before I flicked his arm for impudence.

“Very funny, dork.”

“I’m aware. It’s shaping up to be a very private affair.”

“Just you, me, and no one else,” I continued where he left off, counting off non-guests on my fingers.

“No general, no commandants, no admiralty, no knights – present company excluded – no bureaucrats, and especially no supreme leaders.”

I finished my list with a contented sigh, and waited for some response that wasn’t forthcoming.

“Kylo, I hope you’ve read up on parenting because this little pause is pregnant as fuck.”

He scrunched his eyelids closed, shaking his head slightly.

“It isn’t that simple.”

“Is it not that simple because it actually isn’t, or because you don’t want it to be?”

“Lena,” he pleaded, eyes wired shut.

“That’s not an answer.”

He half-opened one eye to glare at me.

“It’s not worth troubling you.”

“Darling,” I whispered, running one hand over his cheek and tangling his legs with mine as I moved close enough to see his hair flutter with each exhale, “if it’s something you’re trying to keep from me, I think I should be very worried indeed. I need a reason. Lie to me if you have to, but give me some kind of explanation. Please.”

He took my hand from his cheek, placing it back at my side and squeezing it gently.

“You know how you describe your thoughts? Like so many voices running through your mind all at once?”

“Yeah, it’s like a room full of auctioneers.”

“Snoke is that, to me. He can walk through my head whenever it pleases him.”

“I’m sorry, darling,” I choked out.

“You couldn’t have known.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Stop apologising.”

“If I had known-“

“You couldn’t have,” he murmured, a hint of irritation cutting through the fatigue.

“I could’ve figured it out.”

“Mmph.”

“I think I know the difference between Kylo and the universe’s most sinister prune,” I thought out loud.

“Do you now?”

“Yeah, I think so,” I said, moving closer to rest my head against his chest.

“Then do you know what Kylo wants right now?”

“I’m not a mind reader.”

“More’s the pity.”

“Kylo wants to sleep, doesn’t he?”

“Yes,” he said, kissing my forehead before shifting me – as though I wouldn’t notice – to allow him to take up two-thirds of the bed, “yes, he does.”  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly this is just an exposition dump i wrote to avoid working on Fancy Academic Horseshit


	26. Hold a Mirror Up to Nature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘Wars mean tribute torn from our provinces, taxes, hunger, disease. How costly, how wasteful! And yet the answer is simple. We must have no war.’  
> \- Anthony Mann's Fall of Rome, 1964

“Lieutenant!” I shouted to Mitaka down the bridge. He broke off whatever he’d been doing and walked towards me, evidently in no great hurry.

“Do you have a new briefing?” he asked, not bothering with pleasantries.

“For you, yes. We’re buying time while my kids gather some intel.”

“And how long are you expecting them to take?”

“As long as they have to, we just gotta string the days together. What’s this I hear about Hux’s new toy?”

“Once construction is finished, the general wants to attack immediately. He seems to think it would send a clear message.”

“You see, this is the problem with the military. There’s no solutions for them that aren’t blowing shit up.”

“I’ve no doubt we’d be branded as unreliable actors.”

“Yeah, you and me both. I’m not about to get taken down by some coalition of the forced.”

“I could almost certainly convince the general to wait until we’ve got more detailed information, provided you keep out of it.”

“Done. You’d think he’d realise we gain nothing by letting the opposition know what we’re capable of.”

“No one has ever so much as seen anything near this powerful.”

“Or they’re smart enough to follow my advice. I don’t think we need to bring out the big guns just yet.”

“And what would you suggest we do instead?”

 “The same thing I did for three years at conservatory: fake it.”

“At the risk of delving too deeply into your personal life, would you care to elaborate?”

“I’m gonna need a free room and a freer purse string.”

“Rodinon’s gone.”

“Great, we’ll take his room. And salary. You’re a lifesaver, Mittens. Let me know how it goes with Hux.”

“Over drinks this evening?”

“Drink. But yeah, sure.”

* * *

The docking bay was alien as always, teeming with white armour and sparking wires, the whirr and hum of pulleys, chains, and levers filling the air.

It was, evidently, too dangerous a place for me to go on my own, as I discovered when Kylo insisted on serving as my escort, nearly dragging me arm-in-arm through corridor upon corridor. When he finally allowed me to stop and sit on the upper dock of the bay, tucked away from the constant flurry of metal in motion, I huffed into my coat.

“I’m early.”

“We’re early,” he responded, voice unreadable through his modulator. If we weren’t in public, I would have elbowed him in the ribs.

“As adorable as it is that you want to show me off, I could have used the extra sleep.”

“And been late. And possibly walked into a trap.”

“Kylo, you’re being paranoid.”

“That remains to be seen. Do you know what the ship looks like?”

“It’s velvet-lined with a busty blonde painted on one side. Of course I don’t know what it looks like.”

“Then he could be on any ship, and, conversely, anyone could be on his ship.”

“You’re giving these people way too much credit.”

“My mother’s an intelligent woman.”

“I don’t doubt that. But people in numbers are stupid. I mean, look at them,” I pointed to one trooper who’d been felled by a swinging metal beam.

“That’s why we’re up here.”

“I’m not that stupid.”

He shook his head slightly, helmet still staring straight ahead, looking for any signs of new arrivals.

“I’m not.”

“Maybe not that stupid,” he countered.

“Rude.”

“Your third shirt button has been undone since you put it on.”

“That’s what happens when you don’t get enough sleep.”

“Whose fault is that?”

“Yours, Kylo. It’s very demonstrably your fault.”

“We’ll agree to disagree.”

“Oh, no we will not.”

“I think we have to,” he turned away, “because I believe your help has just arrived.”

I moved to follow him to the newly landed ship (ladyless), but he stopped me.

“Stay here, I’ll have him brought up.”

“Oh, yes, bathe him and bring him to me.”

“You’ll pay for that later,” he said dispassionately before whisking away. I watched as the dot of black amidst a sea of white made its way to the new arrival. As the blot drew nearer again my monologue went into hyperdrive.

_He’s going to make a terrible first impression. I told him that he wasn’t allowed to murder anyone under my command with my express permission unless he had a really solid reason, so I mean everything should be safe, but I didn’t specify anything about amputation or maiming, so I still have to-_

“Ignatius Laszlo! You motherfucker. How you been?” I took his hand before wrapping him into a largely-one sided hug.

“Kylo, Iggy Pop here is the greatest director in any galaxy, known or unknown. I’ve always said that, haven’t I, Iggs? How’s the capital been?"

“Same as it’s always been. Overcrowded and covered in trash, both literal and human. What am I shooting?”

“You remember that ad we did for Rystak Industries?”

“The one that was two hundred grand over budget? Couldn’t forget.”

“Great, so do that, but bigger. And more convincing. And less polished. Actually – we may need to work through this.”

“Do you have a script?”

“I can in a matter of hours.”

“Good, I’m tired. Where am I sleeping?”

“Right, we’ve got – a guy” I grabbed the nearest trooper “here who’ll show you the way to the officer’s barracks. Isn’t that right, buddy?”

“Yes, madam.”

“Same to you, kid. Now scamper along. Call me when you wake up, I’ll be ready and waiting.”

“Keep it cool, Lenny.”

“Keep it cool, Iggy,” I called as he shuffled away behind the trooper, one arm stretched behind his head as he released a waiting yawn. Kylo shifted from behind me to at my side once again, this time putting his arm around my shoulder despite how awkward it made the long walk back.

“I don’t care for him,” he said after some time.

“When I was twelve I broke my arm falling out of a tree.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry, I thought we were sharing irrelevant information.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

 _I love you,_ I thought, waiting til we were safe within the confines of our private quarters to voice it aloud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first time I posted this it did something hella weird and ended up like sandwiched in between to earlier chapters? Idk man


	27. Yours, Yours, Yours (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I don't love you, not at all; on the contrary, I detest you. You're a naught, gawky, foolish Cinderella.
> 
> You never write me; you don't love your own husband; you know what pleasures your letters give him, and yet you haven't written him six lines, dashed of so casually!
> 
> What do you do all day, Madam? What is the affair so important as to leave you no time to write to your devoted lover?
> 
> What affection stifles and puts to one side the love, the tender constant love you promised him?
> 
> Of what sort can be that marvellous being, that new lover that tyrannises over your days, and prevents your giving any attention to your husband?
> 
> Josephine, take care! Some fine night, the doors will be broken open and there I'll be.
> 
> Indeed, I am very uneasy, my love, at receiving no news of you; write me quickly for pages, pages full of agreeable things which shall fill my heart with the pleasantest feelings.
> 
> I hope before long to crush you in my arms and cover you with a million kisses as though beneath the equator."  
> \- Napoleon in Egypt to his wife Josephine. He is so fucking extra.

The script, as it turned out, didn’t take long at all. It took a few Long Islands, but that’s besides the point. We’d already agreed to a shoot the next day, so I left Ignatius to his devices in the early hours of the evening, hoping to sleep off the booze.

I stopped in the doorway to our bedroom to take off my shoes when Kylo stalked up behind me. It may have been the alcohol, but the man was impressively stealthy for his height.

“Have you been drinking?”

“…Yes. Obviously.”

“Why?”

“Write drunk, edit sober, sweetheart,” I said, before pulling him down into a kiss. He turned his face away and I was met with a mouthful of tousled hair.

“Darling. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Darling-“

“Not right now.”

“You could just tell me.”

He looked down at me before swallowing, his throat quivering slightly though his eyes remained hardened, almost steely.

“Your friend. Ignatius. Have you ever…” he trailed off, unsure how to end the question with dignity.

“Kylo, I love you, but you’re a ridiculous man.”

He scoffed, but let me continue.

“Look. I’ve known Iggs for the better part of a decade. I lived with him for two years. If I wanted to sleep with him, I would have, and I didn’t, so I don’t. I love you. You have nothing to worry about.”

He didn’t respond right away, leaving me struggling for even more fucking affirmations.

“Darling,” I said, gently squeezing his forearm, “I don’t do relationships, or friendships, or really any kind of ships. It’s just you and me against the universe. I don’t want anyone else.”

“I know.”

“Forgiven?”

“Forgiven.”

“Good. Now please don’t invade my co-worker’s head.”

“I make no promises.”

“Whatever. Just don’t be obvious about it.” I reached up to kiss him, and this time his lips met mine in a harsh kiss, and as I tangled his hair between my fingers he walked me backwards to the bed, pausing for just a moment to rip off my dress, shoving it down to pool at my feet.

With a weak shove, I fell backwards into the sheets and Kylo took the advantage, shoving his knee between my thighs.

“Wet already?” he smirked, head cocked to one side.

“Oh, get over yourself.”

“Fine,” he spat with fake contempt before letting me pull his shirt off and trapping me beneath him, heat radiating off his chest.

“You want this?”

“Obviously.”

“Just wanted to hear you say it,” he said, wetting his middle and forefinger slightly before entering me, forcing a moan from my lips as he thrust them achingly slowly into me, his pace leisurely. His free hand was propping up his chin, looking down at me, watching for every moan and whimper, his eyes growing wide when I twitched against the feeling of a third finger pulling me apart, the pace of his thrusts growing quicker.

The tension in my body was almost intolerable, threatening to snap me like a string, and I kicked my legs uselessly out under me, throwing my head to one side to gulp a cooler breath of air.

“No. Look at me. I want you to see who’s doing this to you.”

I whined and tried to toss my head to the other side, but he caught my jaw with his massive hand, covering most of my throat, forcing my gaze to match his stare, at once voyeuristic and vulnerable.

“Tell me who makes you come.”

“You do.”

“Again.”

“You make me come, Kylo.”

“Good,” he said, the word bubbling up from deep in his belly, coming out as a deep low rumble before he moved in. Without changing his rhythm, he freed my throat and moved in too close, our noses pressing against each other. His hand drifted down my body, briefing tweaking a nipple before finding my clit. With his thumb rubbing harsh circles into the flesh, he breathed into me.

“Prove it. Come for me.”

And with a few more thrusts of his fingers I fell apart beneath him, moaning his name between his lips as he caught mine in a fevered kiss.

When he finally let me catch my breath, he withdrew his fingers and stuck them roughly in my mouth, forcing my tongue down.

“You need to clean up this mess.”

“Mmm,” I moaned around his fingers, swirling my tongue over the chewed tips of his nails before he was satisfied. He took them back out one by one, inspecting each one intently, and then his eyes flickered back up to meet mine.

“How was that?”

“That was amazing, darling.”

“Who else makes you feel like that?”

“Off the top of my head, no one, but I might need to draft a –“

“Stop.”

“Fine. Just you.  You know that.”

He shrugged,

“Still nice to hear.”

“I tell you I love you literally all the time.”

“I know,” he said. “I like it.”

“I love you, darling. Now let me show you,” I purred, reaching to guide his cock towards me, but he wrenched my hand away.

“Absolutely not.”

“Huh?”

“You haven’t earned this. Not today.”

“Can you hear that? That’s the sound of my eyes rolling so far back into my head that they’ve detached from the retinas.”

“Maybe if you’d take me seriously for once in your life, Lena, you’d learn something.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

He moved away to sit back on his heels, moving to stand before me at the foot of the bed. I shifted onto my belly to watch whatever this lesson was he had in mind.

“You’d realise,” he cast his eyes down, trying his best to intimidate, “that you need me, but I don’t need you.”

I opened my mouth to protest but my tongue was pinned fast to the floor of it.

“Quiet. Watch.”

His hand, still wet with spit and cum, grasped the base of his cock before sliding down the length of his shaft, his thumb rubbing across its head. The only sound in the room were his huffs and stifled moans, and the slap of skin sliding over skin.

His breath hitched as his pace quickened, his hips jerking in time with the movements of his hands, thrusting towards me just out of reach.

_I want to touch you. Please._

“Not tonight.”

Kylo’s hair fell tumbling over his shoulders as his head lolled back. Lost in his own bliss, I was free again, and moved in closer as quietly as I could. He held up his other hand to stop me.

“Oh, fuck – I’m so close, Lena, so fucking close.”

Before he could stop me I pounced forward, wrapping my lips around his hand and sucking hard, flicking my tongue against the slit. He pushed into my mouth, filling it with fucking unending jet after jet of hot cum. I swallowed it all, letting the taste of him linger in my mouth before he pulled out himself.

I took his hand, intending to drag him with me towards the shower, but he wouldn’t move.

“Bed.”

“Shower.”

He grabbed my waist and pulled me backwards with him, the pair of us falling in a tangled heap on the sheets.

“Bed,” he repeated, gripping me tighter and kissing my neck.

“Fine, you win.”

“Good,” he said softly, burying his face in my hair before settling to let it rest in between my breasts. I stroked his hair lazily with one hand, the other drawing patterns along his skin.

 “We’re getting married in the morning.”

I laughed politely. He shifted, peering up at me.

“I’m serious.”

“There’s a shoot tomorrow.”

“Then move it. Or don’t go.”

“That’ll look suspicious.”

“Say you’re hungover.”

“Kylo-“

“I’m more important.”

“Than keeping the peace.”

“Yes,” he said, settling back down again and drawing his hand up to cup my breast, lightly running his thumb across it. After a few moments lost in thought he spoke again.

“War is inevitable. But we’re not.”

“You’re so histrionic.”

“You would know,” he sniffed, sitting up again before throwing his legs over the bedside.

“Don’t be that way.”

“I’m not,” he stood towering over me, before traipsing, still nude, out of the room.

_So he’s not leaving again._

After a few moments he returned, one hand curled into a fist around something. When he crawled back into bed with me he released it, laying his palm out flat.

In the centre, dwarfed by his size, was a glimmering ruby – at least, I assume it was a ruby – hanging from a chain of beaten gold links.

The red gem glittered in the light, standing out like a pool of freshly drawn blood against his pale skin.

“My stars,” I whispered, captivated by the light bouncing off its facets.

“This was my grandmother’s.”

“The queen?”

He nodded.

“And now it’s yours. May I?”

“I don’t wear jewellery,” I said, but held up my hair anyway, allowing him to fasten the clasp around my neck.

“You should,” he said, running his fingers along the finely meshed metal of the chain before settling at the hollow of my throat.

“I don’t think I have anything I could give you like this. Not right now, anyway. Maybe if I talk to my mother.”

“It’s not necessary. Get some rest, Lena. We’ve a big day ahead of us.”


	28. War Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We remember the slogans, we can't even remember the fucking wars. You know why? That's show business. That's why we're here. Naked girl covered in Napalm. 'V for Victory'. Five Marines raising the flag, Mt. Suribachi. You remember the picture 50 years from now, you'll have forgotten the war. The Gulf War, smart bomb falling down a chimney. 2500 missions a day, 100 days. ONE video of ONE bomb Mr. Motts, the American people bought that war." - Conrad Brean, 'Wag the Dog'

“And just where were you, Alyan? You disappeared for a fucking week!”

“Sorry for thinking you’re competent enough that I don’t have to supervise your every fucking move.”

“That’s never been the case before.”

“Oh, Ignatius. People grow. People change.”

“Evidently.”

“So what’s our plan?”

“I talk. You look scary.”

“That’s literally never worked.”

“Name one time it didn’t.”

“Rystak. That meeting with the caffa people. When you tried to bluff your way into the master’s program. Atavisk Records. The Lutzik campaign. The Oyoira campaign. The Jyl-“

“Okay. Point made.”

“So what’s the deal with your archenemy?”

“What now?”

“After you left I looked up the guy whose room you took. You could’ve told me you had him axed.”

“I’m sure it was cleaned.”

“It’s not about the cleaning!”

“Whatever. So you met Hux?”

“I've heard tell. He fucking hates you.”

“He doesn’t hate me. We have a –

“Collegial rivalry.” He finished the sentence before I could.

“Ass.”

“Can I please do the talking?”

“Sure. This way,” I said quickly, stopping him from wandering down the wrong corridor. In the haste with which he pivoted to on his feet, his datapad flew out of his hand, skittering along the floor.

After ducking to pick it up, his eyes remained fixated at a significantly lower point than expected.

“Do I have something on my shirt? Because I know you’re not looking down it.”

 “What. In the hell. Is that.”

“Is what?”

“Forgive me, Lena, but you’ve got a small fortune wrapped around your neck. Shit, you could buy an estate with that.”

“Pass.”

“Where’d you get it? Evidence lockup?”

“It was a gift, if you must know,” I supplied, hastily tucking the ruby pendant below my collar.

He rolled his eyes in disbelief. “From who?”

“You don’t know him.”

“ _Him_?”

“Yes, _him_.”

“We’ll pick this up at another time,” Ignatius said definitively, slamming his hand on the biosecured lock.

“General Hux. Good to meet you, sir.”

“You’re such an ass-kisser,” I whispered under my breath as Ignatius walked over to Hux, offering his hand. Hux didn’t bother to stand.

“You’re on time for once, Lena.”

“Not my choice,” I hissed through gritted teeth while sinking backwards into my chair.

“Please excuse my colleague. These are, as they say, the times that try men’s’ souls.”

“Quite.”

“And women’s’,” I added, receiving only a glare.

“General, in my line of work I’ve handled many crisis and have often been called in for the critical task of putting things off, for want of a more technical term. Delaying votes. Holding back scandals. Stemming bankruptcies. And nowhere was this skill more valued, or better paid, than under the Republic.”

 “I wasn’t aware you had worked with the Republic.”

“I’ve worked for many people.”

“My apologies. I don’t recall anything of the sort from your, uh co-worker’s files,” he said, turning to me with one sharp eyebrow slightly raised.

“Well, some of us bother to expand our horizons.”

“Some of us couldn’t find work in the entirety of the Confederation.”

“Real art alienates people.”

“Sure.”

Hux interrupted our brief sparring session with an expectedly stupid question.

“You don’t consider that switching allegiances from the Republic to the First Order to be even a slight conflict of interest?”

“It’s not my fight,” Iggs shrugged, “nor do I particularly want it to become my fight. More to the point, general, we’ve asked you to meet with the both of us today because we have something that we think will interest you. Lena, roll footage.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

I waved a hand over the sensor on my datapad and the screen flickered to life, broadcasting a galaxy in miniature in thin air. As it rolled, Iggs ran through his spiel.

“The galaxy. It’s a big place, far too big to be fully controlled by the current understaffed, underfunded, and devolved regime the New Republic is attempting to foist onto the Inner Rim and beyond. Now, concentrate on that key word – understaffed. I have it on very good authority that over seventy percent of the Republic’s military officers are staffed on Barael 3 –“

The screen zoomed in, bringing up a facsimile of the mountainous and treacherous terrain that covered the Republic’s supposedly impenetrable compound. The landscape was incredibly realistic, and had I not known I could swipe my fingers through it, I would assume it solid. Ignatius always had an eye for detail.

“-as I’m sure you already know.”

The general nodded politely.

“Now with the weapons capacity of the First Order, taking out that troublesome factor would be as simple as, say, a wave of the hand,” he finished with his gesture, and the imaginary planet rendered before us began to crack and burn, chunks falling away, melting into the vacuum of space.

Hux pursed his lips, evidently deeper in thought than normal.

“What,” he said at length, “did you do?”

“General, what if I told you that that footage was filmed entirely on a soundstage deep within the centre of our illustrious capital?”

“I would call you a liar.”

“Maybe you’re right, maybe you’re wrong. I wouldn’t know. I’m paid not to.”

“What exactly do you suggest we do with this footage when Barael 3 is rather obviously still intact, and Starkiller Base still incomplete?” Hux asked, a sniff of annoyance in his voice.

“That’s easy,” I jumped in, “Look. There’s valuable shit on Barael. Why blow it up when we could just take it? Iggs is a genius with all things AV Club, let him do the nerd shit, figure out how to jam and then overhaul their communication streams long enough to raid the planet. Then, once anything that’s for the taking has gotten itself took, blow up the husk. Ta-da,” I finished, making a half-hearted rainbow with my hands.

Hux remained unimpressed, and directed his next question at Ignatius only.

“And you’re confident this will work?”

“It’s the best plan we’ve got. It should buy a month, maybe two.”

“Well. I’ll consider it. Expect an answer by this evening,” he nodded, rising to offer Ignatius another handshake, before leaving the room walking at a brisk clip.

“That went better than I hoped.”

“Which is why you should always let me do the talking.”

“Oh, fuck off. Congrats, you got the hounds called off for a matter of days. You haven’t been dealing with that shit for months.”

“Is he the one you’re fucking?”

“Excuse me?”

“Red necklace, red hair. It seemed like a possibility. My bad.”

“Yeah, your bad indeed.”

“Celebrate with a drink? Maybe you can bother to explain yourself.”

“Gross.”

“Drinks it is.”


	29. Their Goals Are Our Goals (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The Chairman’s Highest Directive was like a revolutionary bomb that exploded in the depths of her soul:   
> The sufferings of the poor and lower middle peasants are our own sufferings. Their difficulties are our difficulties. We must fights against every selfish thought and concern ourselves with the cares for the poor and lower middle peasants.   
> She blushed.   
> He bundled her onto the bed in a mad frenzy, then blew out the light. Her Red Guard armband was soon flecked with blood. The East is Red, the Sun Rises.   
> She greeted her first morning in Eight Mile Ravine.”  
> \- Excerpt from 'Drunk in the Rapeseed Patch,' as translated from the Mandarin by Geremie Barme

 “Eh. I think it’s as much for him as it is for them. It’s hard to feel sympathy for a random jumble of numbers.”

“Yeah, numbers don’t bleed.”

“Acutely observed.”

We clinked glasses in muted celebration.

Rodinon’s, now Ignatius’s quarters, were nicer than I’d assumed they’d be. Spacious, everything done up in stark whites and faded blacks, nothing too extravagant. The look could best be described as aggressively prefabricated. Still, he had a decent bay window that I was now sat in, my back comfortably against the wall as I watched the snow pelting down outside.

Iggs cleared his throat. I was hoping it wouldn’t get to this, but after three glasses or so of the good stuff, it was hard to deny the mind too much.

“So, uh, who’s the unlucky sugar daddy? Or mommy. No judgement.”

“Ask me after five more of these.”

“I said no judgement.”

“You just used the phrase ‘sugar daddy.”

“Okay, some judgement.”

“Well,” I began, running a hand through my hair before settling my fingers to steeple against the temple, swirling my cognac in less than intricate circles, “sugar daddy isn’t exactly the term I’d use.”

“Dating someone your own age for once? Don’t tell me you’re fucking your way to the middle.”

“Fuck off. I’m not dating anyone.”

“Really? Because, and I mean no offense by this, you’d make a terrible prostitute.”

“Rude.”

“So is this like an active situation or was that a one-time thing, like when you had to do that weird voiceover to make rent?”

“I have told you time and time again, that was for a children’s programme about-“

“No kid wants to learn about politics. That’s some fucked up fetish shit.”

“Don’t be gross.”

“Speaking of which,” he said, again pointing to the not insubstantial rock around my neck, “what’d you have to do to get that?”

“Nothing.”

“Kinky. But seriously, if you’re not seeing anyone and you’re not doing the old…” he trailed off, looking me up and down as if something would click by the angle of my feet.

I guess it did.

“You didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?”

“Don’t play dumb, Alyan! I know when you’re pretending to be stupid and when you’re really being stupid. You got hitched.”

“Please.”

“Who is it?”

“You don’t know him.”

“I can find out.”

“Could you please find some real estate and jump the fuck off my dick?”

“Not til I find out whose dick that is.”

I sighed, long, loud, and obviously on edge.

“His name is Kylo.”

“That’s not a name.”

“Yes, it is, and it’s his name, so calm yourself.”

“And when did you meet this Kylo?”

“I dunno. Couple months after I got here. I like him,” I shrugged, downing the last of my glass before setting it down on the floor, “he’s sweet.”

“Sweet?”

“Yeah, sweet.”

It was his turn to be annoyed. With his hands just barely propping up his head, he asked in that tone I’d always hated.

“When we worked for the cultural ministry, what did we always say?”

“Fuck ‘em all and no surrender?”

“Lena, come on. Rule number one.”

“Non-Euclidean geometry was an inside job.”

“I know what you’re doing and it’s not going to work.”

“I’m not doing anything, and it’s totally working.”

“Lenny.”

“Nope.”

“Lenny.”

“Fuck off.”

“The first rule of politics is?” he trailed off, waiting for me to finish.

“If you have to ask, maybe you need to try continuing education.”

“No personal attachments.”

“Please, read me our introductory syllabus.”

“I’m serious,” he said, leaning in almost conspiratorially, “look, the old administration’s on the outs anyway. Give it a few more years, wait for everyone to forget, then come back and join the campaign trail with me. It’ll be just like the old days.”

“The old days got me here.”

“Exactly. Look at this place. You couldn’t build me a person worth staying here for.”

“It’s not ideal. But I like it.”

“Please. Where’s the theatre? Where’s the art? The nightlife? The action? This is just rank and file brass dressed up in black and white, kid. You could get the same thing by enlisting in the Territorial Guard.”

“Can we talk about anything else?”

“There’s nothing else to talk about here. What do you want me to say? The snow looks really cold today, the same as it did the day before, and the day before that. I’m sure it’ll look cold tomorrow. Is that what you want to talk about?”

I didn’t answer, opting instead to stare out the window.

“This place is a fucking death sentence. It’s not too late to change your mind, or your loyalties.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Wait til your contract is up, then come back to Titian with me.”

“No. I’ve made my choice.”

I got up quickly, knocking over the glass that I’d set aside in the process. Without bothering to pick it up, I made for the door.

“I’ve made my choice. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll take my leave.”

 

* * *

 

 

Kylo wasn’t in bed when I walked into the bedroom, nor was he hiding out in the bathtub. This left only thirty-nine options for precisely which room he’d fucked off to.

_Where are you?_ I thought at him, and then remembered that his answer would probably be drowned out in the plush carpeting and artificial wood that lined each corridor. For all its class, it had the same components as a low-budget porno.

Not chatting with grandad, not meditating, not attempting to burn down the kitchen, either.

“What are you doing in my office?”

“Looking for something.”

“What?”

“I don’t know yet. A trinket of some sort.”

“It’s cute that you miss me while I’m working, but I’m not giving you a locket with my hair in it.”

He shook his head, reluctant to indulge me. That was the giveaway.

“What do you want? A tchotchke? Pound of flesh?”

“Not quite. Just something to keep close by.”

“What for.”

He hesitated, blinking rapidly before swallowing.

“I have to leave.”

“I’m sorry?”

I mean, it wasn’t really a question.

“I have to leave,” he repeated, a little quieter, a little less certain.

“Of course you do,” I tried to sound reassuring. Evidently I failed. Just my fucking luck.

“What do you mean ‘of course you do?’”

“You’re a soldier. Soldiers leave. Soldiers fight. Soldiers die. It’s what they do.”

“Lena,” he said, grabbing my arm none too gently, “Lena, look at me. Please.”

“No. Not now.”

I tried to jerk away from him, but he pulled me back until I crashed sideways into his chest, wrapping his arms so tight around me I was forced to turn into him, with only the sweat-stained fabric of his shirt to quiet his heartbeat against my ear. He stood stock-still, only beginning to sway side to side when he felt tears wetting his shirt.

“Why are you crying?” he asked, his voice wavering.

“Why the fuck do you think? No, don’t answer that, it’s not a real question. I mean, stars, Ky, what if you don’t come back? Then where the fuck am I? Where the fuck are we? Where the fuck is this?” I practically shouted, burying my head into his arms so I wouldn’t have to look into his eyes.

He sighed, almost amused, the way he would if I was a toddler telling him stories back to him. When I shot him a glare he leaned down, taking one hand and weaving our fingers together.

“But I will come back.”

“You can’t know that.”

“I do. I’ve seen visions. I come back. You’re there. We’re together.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“Which is exactly what a liar would say.”

“I’m coming back,” he said gently, trying to kiss my cheek before I ducked away, “I promise you that.”

I didn’t answer, choosing to block out the words and only hear the heartbeat, because what if this was the last fucking time? It probably would be.

“I’m not going to die. Look,” he took my chin in one hand, trying to be comforting (not his forte, it must be said).

“This is a very covert, very high-profile mission. Phasma will be there. You know we wouldn’t be on the same field mission if there was any risk at all.”

This was a good point. Two people that high on the chain of command couldn’t be risked together – it was against protocol.

“Why?”

He shrugged slightly before beaming down at me.

“Skywalker.”

“No.”

“Yes. Really.”

“Well, I’ll be.”

“We’re going to find him. You can the pull the trigger, if you like. After the Supreme Leader’s done with him.”

“Oh, stars, Kylo, enough with the Supreme Leader shit.”

His eyes narrowed and I felt his breath halt for just a second too long against me, but he gave up.

“I don’t want to fight tonight, Lena.”

“And you think I do?”

“Yes. You’re using your meeting tone.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Then be less predictable.”

Teasing. Teasing was safe ground.

“What’s gotten you upset?”

“I don’t know, it could have something to do with my husband going off to who knows where-“

“Jakku.”

“Got it, I’ll keep it zipped,” I continued, burrowing into him as he absentmindedly stroked my hair, “- while I’m stuck here dickless – no, not in that sense, but actually, yes, also in that sense – with my head in my hands waiting on edge like some kind of fucking war widow.”

“You’re hardly the type to wait around, my love.”

“I’ve sort of been doing that for months now, haven’t I?”

“No. You’ve been working. Pulling strings. Moving chess pieces around. It’s important work. Far too complicated for me. I’m just the muscle.”

“Hardly.”

“And the dashing looks.”

“I would tell you not to flatter yourself, but you’ve earned it.”

“Why are you upset, Lena?”

“Because everyone I know is terrible. No offense.”

“None taken,” he offered, kissing my forehead. “Would you care to be more specific?”

“I – I don’t know. I was talking to Ignatius and all this old shit came flooding back – not of my own volition, I should add – and it’s just messy, Kylo. I mean, I don’t really do love. And maybe that’s hard for you to see because you’ve been starved for it for too long, but I’m not gonna be able to be here for you. I’m not a saviour. I’m not some knight in shining armour.”

After a long intake of air deep into my belly, I continued, barely croaking out, “I can’t be the person you want, let alone the one you deserve. I’m kind of a shitty person.”

“You’re worried about being enough for a murderer.”

Maybe he was incredulous, maybe just amused. I couldn’t tell.

“You’re more than your job description.”

“So are you. Your job is to evoke emotion in others. You’ve done that. But if you think that you’ve evolved beyond feeling yourself, you’re wrong.”

“I have literally never been wrong once in my entire life, so shut up.”

“Soon. For now, listen. Listen to your friend-“

“He’s not my friend.”

“Or listen to me. Do you remember what you said to me that time you came up to my quarters on the _Finalizer_?”

“Not really.”

“I do. Every word of it. You told me that you can either be good, or great. And now it’s your decision. Do you want to be good? Or do you want to be great?”

He moved away slightly, his hands on my shoulders, just enough to observe from a distance. When I gathered the courage to meet his eyes, he cocked an eyebrow.

“Well?”

“You already know my answer.”

He moved closer, a soft, almost indulgent smile just barely etched across his lips.

“We have tonight. Want to make the most of it?”

“You already know my answer.”

“Then we won’t be needing this,” he dipped his head slightly, inviting me to get rid of his shirt. I obliged.

“Right you are,” I reached up to kiss him before he could stop me, and as those gorgeous, silk-soft lips met mine I felt fumbling fingers against the zip at my back, and then cool air against my skin while I shimmied out of my dress.

He walked me over to my workdesk while trying – and failing – to undo the clasp of my bra.

When he finally succeeded he paused for a moment, looking down at me with the barest spark of mischief in his eyes. He jerked his head in the direction of my favourite chair – an old antique thing, half jacquard and half undone stuffing.

“We are not fucking on Gerard.”

“That’s not the idea.” Before I could protest further, he’d pushed me back into the armchair and dropped to his knees, burying his head in my lap.

“You bastard.”

“You’ll just have to try to keep things clean,” he murmured against my skin in between short, sloppy kisses up and down my legs. The callouses covering the pads of his fingers rubbed into the creases of my thighs as he wedged them open for better access.

I could never accuse the man of being unenthusiastic.

“Oh, fucking hell, that’s gorgeous, just absolutely gorgeous,” I nearly sobbed out as Kylo ran his tongue up the full length from my entrance to my clit, unceasing and unforgiving, lapping against me like the secret to all his problems was stored in my cum.

His breath came heavy and uneven against me, softly cooling the heat that was building between us, the warm and slick feel of his tongue sliding over my clit drawing out a particularly undignified giggle.

“Dearest, how am I supposed to live without – Ah!” he chose an perfectly inopportune moment to catch my clit between his lips and suck hard, his eyes gleaming coppery up at me, evidently pleased with himself.

It was hard to be too mad at him, considering, you know, that fucking tongue. Or tongue fucking.

“So fucking magnificent, darling, please, please don’t stop – oh, fuck, Kylo,” I managed to gasp out while wriggling in his grasp. I was grateful for the chair , otherwise I’d have collapsed by now.

As the fucking exquisite tension was building up underneath his careful watch, I reached out into midair, finding nothing to grasp at but the hand fastened at my hip. Prying it off finger by finger, I directed it down, meeting his eyes briefly before the new sensation of his fingers sliding into me became too much.

My head fell back as I began to slip down, completely oblivious to anything but my mounting pleasure and the man before me so very determined to make me come apart.

_That man. My husband. Mine._

“Oh, stars, Kylo,” I was undone, shuddering underneath him as my orgasm course through me, my fingers twisting his hair into knots. A self-satisfied chuckle vibrated against me.

Finally, finally, he left off, looking up at me, his chin and lips coated in the cum he’d drawn out of me. After quickly swirling his tongue over his lips, severing strands of slick hanging from his top lip, he addressed me.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“Very much so.”

“Good,” the corners of his eyes crinkled and his mouth quirked up in the split-second I could register before his grip shifted to my thighs, pulling me down to the floor with a heavy thud.

“What the fuck, Kylo?”

“Not done with you,” he raised his eyebrows before ducking back between my legs.

“Give a girl a break, Ky,” I pleaded with him, but he had my leg pinned against his chest, the other propped up over his shoulder as he dove back in.

“Please remember to breathe, darling.” I only got a grunt back for my concern; it reverberated against me as he returned to lap and pull at my already overstimulated clit.

“You’re not listening to anything I’m saying. You can’t hear me at all. This is a gross miscarriage of justice.”

I saw his eyebrows furrow slightly, the small indentation between them that only appeared when he was truly exerting himself creating a deep groove above his nose.

It wasn’t long before a second wave came cresting over me, almost as soon as the last ebb of the first had faded. I was about to speak when it hit, hitching my breath in my throat, leaving only a puff of air.

“Oh, Kylo, thank you,” I whispered. As soon as the words left my lips he was on them, the taste of me overpowering on his tongue. I pulled away to pepper his face with feather-light kisses, relishing the feeling of his face glowing soft pink with each one. My hands gripped his hair down to the root, holding him in place as best I could,

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

“Alright. Now let go.”

He sat back on his haunches, hovering just above me, one hand only just kneading the flesh of my thigh.

“What do you want?”

“Kylo, just _fuck me into the ground_.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'know, there was going to be more smut in this but then I realised that if I didn't post something soon I'd lose a shitload of momentum. As it is this took too long for my liking, but I'mma blame mental ish rather than lack of motivation.  
> Anyway, we're finally getting into the homestretch, y'all. I've really enjoyed writing this so far, and I'd like to thank every reader/kudos-giver/commenter/bookmarker, etc., your enthusiasm and kindness has been amazing. This is the first time I've written anything for funsies in over three years, so I was feeling a bit apprehensive - but like, whoa. So much sweetness, so much support. You're wonderful children.


	30. My Dearest Penelope,

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Well I believe that I have written all for this time. would be verry glad to See you & have a long talk with you..   
> Could Tell you much more If Present than I can write and hope how Soon we will get home to Enjoy the Comforts of Civil life & the many Pleasures of good Friends..
> 
> "Will Say to you That I dont understand your meaning when you Said that For your reason for not writing Sooner you could not write but would tell me when I Came home, but hope it was for no error of my Self.. but I cant insist on knowing as you Said you would tell me when I came home
> 
> Well I will close for to day   
> Please write Soon   
> and tell me all the News and Particulars and   
> hopeing to hear from Soon again
> 
> Believe me as ever   
> Yours verry Respectfully   
> Newton Scott."  
> \- Letter (spelling/grammar intact) sent May 24th, 1865, at close of US Civil War by returning soldier

“Don’t touch that,” Ignatius swatted my hand away from the gleaming, sharpened durasteel, even though it was definitely out of any kind of danger.

“I wasn’t gonna.”

“If you do, it’ll be the last thing you ever touch.”

“Except for the hearts of millions.”

His shoulders slumped and he turned to cast a sideways glance at me before going back to his tinkering.

“I can’t believe they left you in charge.”

“Hey, with Barael nixed and the guerrillas out chasing some stylite wandering the stars, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“It’s not the other side I’m worried about, it’s you without supervision.”

“Well, you’re here, mommy dearest.”

“You’re not half as clever as you think. How does that look?”

He turned the model around so it fully faced me, resplendent in the drab grey, monotone grey, and stark greys I’d come to love so well.

“Bit dull.”

“It’s not supposed to be an art installation.”

I snapped my fingers together, hoping the friction would spark something.

“I’ll tell you what you can do with this. You know the one visual universal across all cultures?”

He gestured for me to continue, which I did with minimal condescenscion.

“Okay, so everywhere, everyone, no matter what recognises at least two colours. And they are?”

“Black and white?”

“Exactly. If there’s a third, it’s always the same.”

“Grey?”

“No. Red.”

“And?”

“And after that it’s a crapshoot. Anyone’s game. Point is – this could use a bit of colour. Some rouge to please the eye a bit. Here – what if you put the Order insignia against the backdrop?”

“That’s,” he hesitated slightly before continuing, processing his thoughts and words at the same time, “not actually a bad idea.”

“Course not. It was my idea.”

“You’re a regular aesthete, Lenny.”

“I’d like to think so.”

I moved in to peer at the intricacies of the model, though there weren’t many. It was clean lines and sharp corners, trapezoids and triangles – par for the course for Starkiller. Ignatius may not have paid attention in anthropology (read: I took his exams for him in exchange for two hundred credits and a bottle of whiskey), but he was a genius with focus groups.

“I’m going to spend a little more time tinkering with this. Try not to blow up the base while I’m busy.”

“Please. The closest I could get is calling in a bomb scare.”

“Careful. Wouldn’t want your war hero rushing back from his top-secret assignment.”

“Careful yourself. If you don’t treat me with respect I will tell him. And he will cut you up with his laser sword.”

“I’m quaking in my regulation boots.”

“You should be. He’s due back any day now.”

* * *

Any day now.

* * *

Any day now.

* * *

I mean, I didn’t really expect him to call. Or contact me at all. Too risky. But there’s always that weird hope in the back of your head that you’ll get to see the person you love even when the logical bit of your brain is calling you really fucking stupid.

There were a few nights the bed seemed a world too wide and I wandered bleary-eyed into my office and curled up at my desk.

It was on one of those nights that I woke with a start to the shriek of my holocomm. I answered, opting for audio only.

“Darling?”

“Lena. Why are you awake at this hour?”

“Because you woke me up. Are you coming home?”

“Yes. I’ve missed you.”

“And I’ve missed you. Can you tell me how everything went, or is it still on the hush?”

“I’ve been summoned by the Supreme Leader. After that, we’ll talk about it.”

“Sounds good. I love you. Hurry home.”

“I’ll try.”

“Good enough. Love you.”

I fumbled around with one hand for the button to end the transmission. I got no sleep for the rest of the night, opting to take in a blinding white sunrise, scanning the sky for any oddities.

_God, is this what I’ve been reduced to?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you have any idea how weird it feels to be writing the events of TFA from the perspective of this dipshit because it is weird af


	31. Mututally Assured Seduction (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The city of Lyon shall be destroyed: The name of Lyon shall be erased from the list cities of the Republic...here shall be raised over the ruins of Lyon a column that will attest to posterity the crimes and punishment of the royalists of that city, with this inscription: Lyon made war on Liberty; Lyon is no more." - Bertrand Barère's Declaration to the National Convention on the revolt of Lyon, 12 October 1793

“You’re absolutely unbelievable, you know that?”

“Lena-“

“I can’t believe you went to go see Snoke before you came to me. You’re impossible.” I threw my hands up in exaggerated annoyance. Whatever had Kylo on edge was evidently not being assuaged.

“It was direct orders,” he answered, definitely testy, still clothed and attempting to re-arrange his hair with one gloved hand.

“I know that,” I softened my voice as best I could and closed the distance between us, craning my head up to kiss him softly. “I’m just joking. I missed you.”

“I’m sorry,” his eyes were still locked on my lips, but before he could move I stepped out of his grasp.

“We’ve only got so much time. I suggest we multi-task.”

* * *

I’d made uneasy peace with the slippery marble basin digging into my knees, pushing away the slight pain by focusing all my attentions on the (truly unnecessarily large) cock down my throat. All my will was concentrated on fighting the urge to gag, but the massive hand forcing me further down had other ideas. Taking in one long, too-warm breath against a base of coarse black curls I looked up to see Kylo’s broad chest towering over me, beads of water and sweat threatening to drop off it, his head barely visible tossed back against the wall. His other hand was scrabbling for purchase along the smooth tile, unable to find any leverage.

I knew he was close by the way he knotted his fingers together in my hair, trying to curl into a fist.

_Enjoying yourself?_

“Yes,” came out in a low, hoarse whisper, “fuck yes.”

His hips thrust into me once before I ran my tongue across the slit of his head and ducked to the side, his cock sliding from between my lips with a lewd pop that I’m sure he heard over the hiss of water on tile.

“Good.”

He was more than a little annoyed, which was perfect. My arm was almost ripped out its socket with the force he used to drag my body to standing, still dwarfed.

“Cheeky bitch.”

“Always.”

With his hand still held fast around my wrist he whirled me around, my back pressed against the wet wall beneath the showerhead. For a moment I considered how the falling water draped over him like some sort of freaky reverse Venus. I didn’t have much longer to think, though, surrendering my higher faculties and the remaining air in my lungs when Kylo pushed into me, my own arousal and the water from above allowing him in with one steady thrust.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck, I almost forgot how you feel around me,” he breathed out, letting me feel the full length of him – how did it all fit, fucking hell – inside me, before withdrawing almost completely and slamming into me again until my spine felt like it was being crushed against the wall.

With my hands still pinned above me he pulled me up to eye level, forcing me to wrap my legs around him, my ankles interlocked behind.

“Sure you can handle this?”

“Is that a challenge?”

It wasn’t, but he didn’t need to know that.

“I mean – it’s been – a while,” I managed to get out between thrusts that forced the air from my body.

“Are you serious?”

With one hand gripping the wall for balance and the other roughly pawing at my breasts he leaned even further in to me, noses touching as he spoke into my mouth.

“If you think I don’t come to the thought of you underneath me just like this, you’re wrong.”

I tried to protest, but only got out a stifled scoff before he kissed me into silence, never slowing his pace, his rhythm steady and harsh.

“If you don’t think,” his lips broke the strand of saliva between us as he continued, “that I haven’t come imagining it was your hand-“ he squeezed my wrists before relaxing again “- on my cock than you’re so fucking wrong.”

His other hand had trailed down to my clit without me even realising, my gaze and all my attentions had been trapped by his eyes, so close I could see the flecks of pure bright gold in those pools of brown. He pressed two fingers against it lightly, drawing out a yelp I didn’t know was waiting in my throat. For that I got a soft, smug little chuckle and the sensation of his thumb against me, the rough skin rubbing circles against me in time with his hips, growing faster as he spoke, the slap of flesh against tile almost overwhelming that of flesh against flesh.

“It hasn’t been long at all for me, Lena. The question is: how long is it going to take for you to come undone?”

It was impossible to deny I was close, and I know he could feel me twitching along his length, could feel my legs spasm when he hit it just fucking right, could hear the hitch in my throat when his circles grew faster and harder, grinding against me without any reprieve at all.

I fought to hold down a whimper in my throat. It won.

With his eyes still boring into mine, fixated and dilated, he whispered to me.

“Go ahead. Come on my cock. I know how much you want to.”

He had pushed me over and he fucking knew it. My legs tensed, then nearly went limp as I came hard around him. The clenching of my cunt along his length was evidently too fucking much, because only seconds later I felt the hot pulsing of cum inside me.

I wiggled my wrists free as soon as the strongest waves had run their course, content to let the aftershocks go through me at ground level. Kylo had yet to come down from his climax when I reached the floor.

“Bastard.”

I leaned into him and he wrapped his arm around my waist, the both of us still finding our balance as the spray washed away the sweat and smell of sex.

* * *

“You could try looking less chipper. This is a sombre occasion.”

“I’m devastated, I’ll have you know.”

Ignatius and I were stood side-by-side looking down at the orderly throngs of white below.

“I can imagine. Bed and fled, did he?”

“I meant the speech. It’s atrocious," I spat back, before adding, "and he's needed elsewhere."

“If you hadn’t been so busy shtupping the masked menace, you would have seen the draft I sent you.”

“I’m not going to apologise for caring about my marriage.”

We carried on as the bathos of Hux’s speech reverberated through the room, and, presumably, the entire base. No need for it - the vast majority of military personnel were below, listening - I assume he assumed them enraptured - but we, the token civilians, were safely out of sight in a viewing room, colour correcting the footage that would go out to the FOHN.

“Today is the end of the Republic. The end of a regime that acquiesces to disorder-“

“Chaos would’ve been a better choice.”

“I didn’t want to lay it on too thick.”

“At this very moment in a system far from here, the New Republic lies to the galaxy-“

“Wouldn’t worry about that, he’s doing it for you.”

“while secretly supporting the treachery of the rogues of the Resistance-“

“You’d never get away with anything like this in the Confederation.”

“See? I told you this place could be fun.”

“Because you’d be sued for libel. And rightly so.”

“This fierce machine which you have built upon which we stand -“

“Wait, what?”

“It’s a metaphor, Lenny. Didn’t you study rhetoric?”

“will bring an end to the Senate, to their cherished fleet. All remaining systems will bow to the First Order-“

“I don’t see the point of that. Surely he wants to frame it as coercion?”

“I just direct the stuff, Lenny.”

“-and will remember this as the last day of the Republic!”

The beams of fiery light that ripped through the sky seemed the come from the ground itself, as if the planet itself was screaming its own rage to outmatch the general.

“Iggs, I don’t think that was a metaphor.”

“Holy. Shit.”

“I think I’m gonna spew chunks.”

“Lenny?”

“Yeah?”

“I think the case against you just got some new evidence.”

“Now is not the time for legality.”

“Okay.”

“What did we just let him do, Iggs? What did we do?”

“We were just following orders.”

I closed my eyes, the image of those branches of hate ripping through the atmosphere burned against the lids.

“Just following orders.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're moving through TFA at quite a clip, aren't we? Not the original intention, but it seems to be coming out that way. Only a few more chapters to go - after that, provided I get my shit together, I've got a sort-of sequel planned inspired by my favourite Shakespeare soliloquy, because NOT ONLY am I trash, I'm hella pretentious trash.


	32. Crisis Management

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Observers likened him to a volcano, and only the most intrepid or recklessly curious cared to see it erupt. His close associates all had stories of his blood-curling oaths, his summoning of the Almighty to loose His wrath upon some miscreant, typically followed by his own vow to hang the villain or blow him to perdition. Given his record – in duels, brawls, mutiny trials, and summary hearings – listeners had to take his vows seriously."  
> \- H. W. Brands on Andrew Jackson's affairs of honour in re: his wife Rachel

 

“He’s killed all the peacekeepers. He’s killed anyone who might actually want to broker an agreement. He’s – he’s Kurtzing. He's full-on Kurtzing.“

“He’s consolidating power.”

“Thanks for that, I hadn’t realised.”

“No, I mean – Lena, your dad was military, right?”

“Don’t remind me,” I rolled my eyes as visibly as possible, scooting further back into my chair.

“Yeah, sorry. Still too sober for that.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Ok, but – the chain of command around here is the same?”

“I guess. I haven’t noticed any difference.”

“And the First Order’s military runs the government, not the other way round, right?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty gnarly stuff.”

“So when the war’s over…”

The nails I’d been chewing on were already bitten to the quick, or I would have definitely pulled one of them off with the strength of my jaw clenching shut.

“Shit, you’re right. Shit.” My hand slammed the desk so hard a stray datapad went crashing to the floor, landing with a soft thump in the carpet.

“We’re ruined.”

“Not that! Forget that! I can’t believe you had the audacity to figure this out before me. I should punch you.”

“Please don’t.”

“Well, seeing as you asked so nicely.”

We both sat in silence for a moment longer, running through the worst of worst case scenarios. A strange thought struck me.

“But – if he just keeps blowing shit up, what will there even be left to rule? Some charred planets?”

“Maybe he’s not thinking about just this galaxy.”

“No one in their right mind would try to expand intergalactic that quickly. You might as well try to fuck a bantha.”

“No one in their right mind would blow up an entire star system, either.”

A compelling point.

“We don’t know what’s he gonna do.”

“Can’t you get Lancelot to magic us up the answer?”

“I think I’m gonna let him kill you one of these days.”

“If we last that long.”

“Speaking of oblivion, pour me another?”

“Yeah, sure.”

The sound of whiskey hitting glass and the slight gurgle as it flowed from the bottle was truly revelatory. Almost enough to make you forget the apocalypse is happening around you as you drink. After setting the bottle down none too graciously, Ignatius spoke again, his voice low as though we were being watched.

“You know, we could always just…leave.”

I sighed in response, burying my face in my hands.

“I mean, it’s not like this is our war. We could just … jet.”

“Please.”

“No, I’m – I’m serious. We could get out of here. Fake names, I know a guy who can do fake papers –“

“Everyone and their fake mother knows a guy who can do fake papers.”

“They’ve got a hangar full of ships. Look, I learned to fly while you were stuffing your nose with political powder. We take one of those little ones, get the fuck out of here. You really think they’re gonna notice if one goes missing?”

“Yes. Yes, I do. This isn’t office supplies, Iggs. And you remember that shit that went down on the _Finalizer?_ ”

“Huh?”

“Some prisoner escaped in a Tie-fighter. Kylo wouldn’t tell me much else.”

“You get all your news from the man in the chrome mask?”

“You’re not funny.”

“I’m not stupid, either. I’m not waiting around to get killed by some rebels without a clue, assuming the Red Menace doesn’t off us first.”

“He has nothing to gain by killing us. Yet.”

“Yet. You see a problem with that sentence? Because I do.”

“More whiskey.”

“Fine. Look, if you’re hellbent on dying, Lenny, you could at least die for a cause.”

“Causes are dumb and they get you killed.”

“Do you not recognise the irony in that sentence?”

“No, but I’ll toast to it.”

“I can’t believe I tolerated you for two entire years.”

“Sixteen months if you subtract sleep.”

* * *

“You’re like a child. It’s like you have no sense of object permanence.”

“Shut up, my head’s a mess already,” I snapped back without looking at Ignatius, already near-sprinting to keep up with my pace through the corridors.

“Yeah, I knew that. It’s been what? A few days, at most?”

“Has it never occurred to you that maybe I might miss him?”

“That’s hardly the Lena I know.”

“Fuck your Lena, she’s an absolute bitch anyway.” I stopped short of the entrance to the main hangar, turning to the trooper on guard. “Hey, if it’s not too much trouble, if you would be so kind as to open the door? I’m expecting the commander.”

“Yes, madam.”

“Thanks a million. And he’s with me.”

“Unfortunately.”

We passed through the threshold into the chaos of the hangar, always abuzz with movement in a way the officer’s zones never were. Something about self-awareness really takes the vigour out of the day-to-day.

“When are you expecting him?”

“Right now.”

I smiled triumphantly, pointing down to the black shuttle below, steam still disappating from its vents as the crew alighted.

“And there he is,” Ignatius offered, his tone smug enough that I didn’t need to see his face.

“That’s no droid.”

“Nope.”

“Still miss him?”

“I’m sure there’s a perfectly valid explanation for it.”

“Yeah, just not one I think you’ll like.”

“I will have him kill you,” I called over my shoulder as I hurried down the flight of stairs that took me to ship level, never breaking stride through the swarms of armoured troopers as I made my way to the thankfully tall man in black. I reached him before he could notice me.

“So I see you’ve taken a concubine.”

I tried to sound joking with debateable success.

“Jealous?” came filtered through the mask, unreadable.

Before I could respond he cut me off with a slight jerk of his head, both hands occupied with whatever little conquest he’d found.

“We’ll discuss this later. FN 1769! Keep the prisoner held in interrogation cell C under guard.”

“Yes, sir.”

_You had better have a fucking good explanation for this._

* * *

We walked side-by-side to the quiet and comfort of our quarters in silence, me bristling the entire time, swearing at him internally all the while. As soon as the door had swiped shut behind him he cast off his hood and detached his helmet, holding it like a newborn in the crook of his arm.

“Why are you so upset?”

“You said one thing and did another.”

“That’s what you do all the time.”

“I know. It’s just, I mean – I’ve known you to be a lot of things, darling, dishonest is not one of them.”

“We found the girl before we found the droid.”

“So? You were looking for a droid, not a girl. Checkmate.”

“The droid was special to the Resistance. Unique model, the property of a particularly troublesome pilot. She,” he said, tossing his head vaguely in the direction of the scavenger’s holding cell, “somehow convinced it to reveal the map to her. She’s not Resistance.”

“Yeah, right.”

“She’s not. No ties to them. It was less of a liability to have her on board.”

He wasn’t lying, mostly because he couldn’t. Never developed the facial muscles for it, is my guess. Slowly, he placed his helmet gingerly in the seat of a velveteen devan and stiffly held out his arms.

I relented, letting him wrap them around me before hugging him back, inhaling the smell of stale ship air and wild grass. I almost purred when he ran his fingers through my hair

“It was funny, you know,” he began speaking again to my surprise. The man had never been fond of small talk. “She put up quite a fight.”

“I’m sure you were captivated.”

“Are you jealous?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

He moved away just enough to look me in the eyes, his own gleaming bright with pride and more than a little taunting.

“You know she tried to kill me.”

_“What.”_

“It happens in combat. Generally speaking.”

“When you get the information out, I get to kill her.”

“Lena-“

“I didn’t say it would be painful. Just that I’m the one that gets to do it.”

He shook his head slightly before kissing my cheek and breaking away to grab his helmet.

“In that case, I’ll go check on the victim now.”

“Leaving so soon?”

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

 

 


	33. Jailbreak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The State only aims at instilling those qualities in its public by which its demands are obeyed, and its exchequer is filled. Its highest attainment is the reduction of mankind to clockwork. In its atmosphere all those finer and more delicate liberties, which require treatment and spacious expansion, inevitably dry up and perish." - Victorian novelist Ouida as quoted by Emma Goldman in 'What Anarchism Really Stands For'

I was perhaps more than a little miffed, but unsurprised that it took longer than I’d hoped for Kylo to return. The hours between were whiled away with expensive lotions and gilded hairpins. From above the comm system rang out its usual shift changes, followed by something that caught my attention:

“Lieutenant Sheppard, report to Prison Bay C. Lieutenant Sheppard to Prison Block C.”

Well, shit.

You see, on particularly large operations – say, for example, the size of a fucking planet – it’s important to maintain order even when something goes wrong. And Lieutenant Sheppard is code for when something goes so incredibly wrong that only the toppest of the top can know.

I was understandably concerned.

 

The bridge overlooking Starkiller’s main control room was running as usual, a hub of hurried activity that reminded me so much of the Capital Exchange. Nothing out of the ordinary, though. I walked as quickly as I dared without betraying any panic to the petty officers.

“General.”

“Yes?”

His tone was equally guarded. I dropped my voice as low as possible without seeming overtly suspicious, and he did likewise, walking me the length of the bridge.

“Do you have new orders for Lieutenant Shepphard?”

“As I understand it, the Lieutenant is needed to deal with yet another mess created by your husband.”

“Care to elaborate?”

In one breath, he hissed out,

“The prisoner’s escaped.”

I knew better than to ask him to repeat it. Now it was just a question of finding Kylo before his inevitable freakout alerted the whole base. The walk to Prison Block C was thankfully short, and judging by the light smattering of troopers, the guards were unconcerned. I still had time.

One vital skill you learn from staging media circuses is to notice minute details. Shot angles off by individual degrees. Single strands of hair out of place. A misplaced preposition that wrecks an entire paragraph. The media is not naturally slick, it is polished into near oblivion, buffered and re-varnished until any sign of wear, any suggestion of its perfectability can be dismissed. It’s a tricky business. For my money, the most critical element?

Spatiality. What goes where. Do you put the minister next to the refugees? Should they hug? Does Your Intrepid Reporter give a dispatch in front of the burning building, or safely away? Who initiates a hug, and how? What direction do they face? This is all amateur level stuff, so even despite my considerable time away from the newsroom, I knew something was off.

I let my footsteps fall heavy as I passed a storage closet, circling back around silently after a few moments.

The door was ajar.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Despite the dark I know exactly who she was. That little bitch. I had her by both arms, keeping myself between her and the door.

“Who the fuck are you to try to lay so much as your little finger on him? He belongs to me.”

Her eyes were wide, her lip was chewed, her hair was truly a mess. Young, and afraid, and clearly lost. In other circumstances, maybe I would’ve felt bad for her. But I doubt it.

“You have crossed a Rubicon of shit, you know that? I don’t know who you are or who the fuck you think you are, but if you ever so much as attempt to harm my –“

“You will forget you ever saw me.”

“Oh, please. You’ll have to try harder than _\- I will forget I ever saw you_.”

A pair of hands threw me against the door and the world went dark.


	34. The Prodigal Daughter Returns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The beloved may be treacherous, greasy-headed, and given to evil habits. Yes, and the lover may see this as clearly as anyone else — but that does not affect the evolution of his love one whit. A most mediocre person can be the object of a love which is wild, extravagant, and beautiful as the poison lilies of the swamp. A good man may be the stimulus for a love both violent and debased, or a jabbering madman may bring about in the soul of someone a tender and simple idyll." - Carson McCullers, The Ballad of the Sad Cafe and other short stories (go read this is good)

“What the fuck did you do to me?”

“I woke you up. Why are – forget it, there’s no time. We gotta leave, kid.”

“Simmer down, I think they can hear you in the next star system – fuck, what was I drinking?”

“No time for that, Lenny, we need to get out of here. Evacuation procedure.”

“What?”

Good heavens, my skull was splitting open like the Vase of Soissons.

“Everything’s gone to shit and unless we get moving, we’re dead. Come on!” He yanked me off the ground and onto my feet, which, considering the state of my head, were surprisingly sturdy.

“What happened?”

“Don’t know.”

“Where are we going?”

“Don’t know!” he yelled back, already running down the corridor.

“Where’s Kylo?”

“Don’t know!”

That stopped me. Ignatius kept running a few more moments, but must have noticed the absence of footfalls behind him.

“Come on, Lena. There’s no time.”

“Fuck off, I’m not going anywhere til I find him.”

“Do you want to die?”

“Would it be such a bad thing?” I called over my shoulder, racing to my quarters and screaming my husband’s name (out loud, internally) the whole way there.

I finally caught my breath rummaging through my safe. I stashed my print in the front of my dress, leaving only the tracker I’d nicked off Hux inside.

“Alright, you little bastard, you’re going to find my man.”

* * *

The deep snowdrifts of Starkiller Base were at their most treacherous – the wrong step would’ve plunged me straight to my death. At least it would have been quick and merciful. Not all of us are so lucky.

But the tracker guided me through the peril, the crashing snow and massive rifts criss-crossing the planet that used to be so wonderfully, incredibly dead. And now, the giant awakens to plunge me into the ninth level of hell.

The tracker’s signal was consistent, never wavering – either Kylo was waiting on some landing pad, or he was safeguarding some prisoners, or –

Or he was a black lump supine in the snow, almost at the precipice of another new ravine. There was no time to tread lightly.

I ran to him as fast as the shifting snows would let me, feeling the cold seep into my bones as I knelt down next to him.

He still had a pulse. I put an ear to his chest, his heart was still beating.

The snow was pitted with slush, the smell of burning flesh and wood came in waves with the blasts of air that belched from the disintegrating planet.

“Who did this?”

His only answer was to squeeze my fingers, a small reassurance that he could hear me. There was blood in his hair, still liquid on my fingers, pooling into the grooves of my palm.

“I’m going to kill them. Slowly and painfully. I’m going to watch them die and carve their last fucking words into their stomachs. Kylo, who did this?”

I could feel the tears falling and knew I was helpless to stop them, hoping they would freeze on my face before they diluted the blood still seeping out.

“It’s okay, darling. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. We’re leaving. We’re going to survive this. You’re going to survive this.”

He groaned, the blood oozing down his face now running over his lips, burbling with any attempt at speech.

“Save your strength, my beauty. Help is coming. I promise help is coming.”

It had fucking better be.

“Just keep breathing on my rhythm. One, two, three, out. One, two, three, in. Good. You’re doing so well. You’re doing so well.”

I did my best to wipe the gore from his face, or at least to keep his hair out of it. I wanted to hug him, to feel the warmth still radiating out of him, but was too afraid. I didn’t know what else had been hurt, what bits were rotting open underneath me.

“Keep breathing, my love. Just do that, and I promise you on my life everything will be fine.”

* * *

I wasn’t looking forward to seeing her again, but the door flung open and there she was, just as I remembered her.

“Hello, Penelope. Sorry for not calling in advance. Or for the last ten years. I’m sure you remember Ignatius. This is your son-in-law, Kylo. Now would you be so kind as to let us in because I’m pretty sure if he doesn’t get proper medical treatment soon, he’s going to die.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will also be the beginning of the sort-of-sequel, sort-of-character study that's been bouncing around my head. It should end this on a relatively happy note. #imasellout #happykylodefensesquad2k16


	35. So What's It Going to Be Then, Eh?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "All the world’s a stage,  
> And all the men and women merely players;  
> They have their exits and their entrances,  
> And one man in his time plays many parts,  
> His acts being seven ages."  
> \- Jacques, Act II Scene VII, Shakespeare's 'As You Like It'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word to the wise - this is also the first chapter of the SECOND IN A TWO PART SERIES (v excite I know) which will diverge wildly from canon like a fucking rollercoaster. That one will probs. be eight (albeit far longer individually) chapters.

She would help him, I knew that. She took an oath, even if she was family. It felt like an eternity before I heard the door downstairs creak shut. Her footsteps, as delicate and dainty as they ever were, sounded just as familiar as they had when I was a child.

It’s strange the way sounds stick with you. The screams of drunks stumbling out the open doors of beyond seedy cocktail bars, the screech of hyper-speed trains trammelling through the streets, the clicking of misshapen market stall wheels along cobblestone streets. I watched it all from the balcony without so much as a coherent word or thought, only disturbed when a cup was thrust below my face. I took it with unsteady hands, spilling half the contents onto the ground and street below.

“Have you been here all night?”

I nodded without looking at her.

“It’s cold out. You’ll catch something.”

I shrugged, then raised the half-empty cup to my lips.

“Shit!” I was caught by surprise by the scalding hot caffa. The cup smashed into pieces on the balcony’s flooring.

“I’m sorry. I should have told you.”

“Well, I should have noticed,” I admitted, quietly. She offered me hers, but I wouldn’t take it. My stomach couldn’t handle it.

We stood side by side for a short while that felt far too long, watching the city snap out of its nighttime reverie, back to the daily drudgery. She spoke first, though neither of us bothered to avert our eyes from the scene below.

“I’ve called in to work. I have the week off.”

“Thank you.”

“I don’t think he’s going to die.”

“Do you mean that, or are you just saying that?”

“Not everyone lies for a living, Lena.”

I felt a hand trying to take mine, and relented, letting her intertwine my fingers with hers.

“I don’t think he’s going to die. And I can promise you I will do everything in my power keep him alive.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you want to see him?”

“No.”

She sighed, a little defeated, a little annoyed.

“Lena, come inside.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Lena, I can’t handle two patients at once.”

“Okay.”

“Good. Now sit down,” she patted the seat next to her, and when I gave in she wrapped her arms around me, pulling me tight. She was always stronger than she looked. I chalked it up to the battlefield, but fuck if I know.

“It’s not going to be like your father.”

“You literally cannot know that.”

“Lena Alyan.”

There it was. That fucking tone.

“It’s not.”

I huffed into her side. Was it petty? Yes. Did I care? Not really.

“You sound awfully sure of yourself.”

“I am. These are very different circumstances. Let’s see – for one, you managed to get him out of a war zone. All of his injuries, as far as I can tell, are strictly physical. And treatable. And he’s got something to live for – doesn’t he?”

“Mmph.”

“You could have told me you got married.”

“I could have told you a lot of things, mother. You wouldn’t have believed them.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. You never did strike me as the type to go for a military man. I thought we raised you better than that. At least, I certainly did.”

“Apple, tree.”

“I guess. I just hoped you’d make better decisions.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. It can’t be helped.”

She shifted from my side, letting me out of her vicegrip.

“Should I go check on him?”

“Couldn’t hurt.”

“Right.”

I’d hoped she’d have the decency to leave me to my thoughts for a while longer. But hope is a stupid thing. I felt her hand on my shoulder, a lopsided smile wide across her face.

“The patient has requested your presence.”

“He’s-“

“Yes.”

I took the stairs slowly – lack of sleep, food, and sense will do a number on your balance – clinging to the bannister all the while. She’d set him up in my old room. He was, to no one’s surprise, far too large for my childhood bed, but that didn’t seem to bother him so much as the life-threatening injuries.

He smiled wide, his teeth glowing the dim yellow light. He must have been off his head on painkillers.

“Lena, where are we?”

“Titian. It’s the Confederation capital. Don’t worry, no one knows we’re here, except Iggs, and he piloted us here, so you’re not allowed to kill him anymore.”

“And your mother.”

“Huh?”

“You look exactly like her.”

“You take that back right now.”

“No, I think I need a closer look.”

He sat up as best he could, wincing slightly before settling into a cross-legged pose against a mountain of pillows, and motioned me forward with one hand. I sat down beside him as gingerly as possible, and him cup my chin with his unbandaged hand. In all my worry to avoid upsetting the bedsprings or accidentally elbowing him in the stomach, it didn’t occur to me what he’d done until after he’d pressed his lips against mine, dry and chapped, but so familiar, so gentle, so calm.

“No, you do. I’m sure of it.” He smiled again, completely blissed out, before pushing a few hairs back behind my ear.

“You’re not allowed to kiss my mother.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good. As soon as you’re patched up, we’re never going to see her again.”

“Why?”

“You’re not the only one that’s allowed to have family issues, Kylo.”

He leaned back, collapsing into the pillows. I drew patterns along his skin as he stared into the ceiling.

“We’ll have to find somewhere to live – some kind of employment – new identities –“

“All that can wait until you don’t have a gaping hole in your side.”

“Your mother said that could take weeks.”

“It probably will. That gives us plenty of time to think. So, sweetheart, give it some thought – who do you want to be?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a wild ride, my buddies. My sincerest thanks to everyone who has read, kudos'ed, bookmarked, or commented on this story. I could not have done without knowing My Beloved Public was there with me. This is the first time I've written for pleasure in years, and I can honestly say I couldn't imagine a better community for it. So with much love, I leave you this fluff.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, please let me know if you have any feedback! You can find more of my SW writing on my tumblr, starkillainmanila.tumblr.com.
> 
> Allusions (there's a shitload)
> 
> Lena Alyan - Named, roundabout, for Third Reich documentarian Leni Riefenstahl, and modelled heavily on Dorothy Parker.
> 
> Ignatius - Named for Ignatius J. Reilley, protagonist of 'A Confederacy of Dunces.'
> 
> 'Sheer audacity' is an altered quote from guillotined revolutionary Georges Danton.
> 
> The print Lena treasures is a copy of the Malmaison's version (there are five) of Jacque-Louis David's 'Napoleon Crossing the Alps.'
> 
> 'The War Room' is a reference to Kubrick's Dr. Strangelove.
> 
> 'We're aware of the acronym problem,' is directly lifted from Zadie Smith's 'White Teeth.'
> 
> Lena's second prong of her contingency plan is modelled on the plot of Barry Levinson's 1997 film 'Wag the Dog.'
> 
> The hair part thing comes from a book on gangster and mafia films I read years ago for a film class the name of which escapes me.
> 
> Chapter title for chpt. 4 is from Arrested Development
> 
> Chapter title for chpt. 5 is from the Martha & the Vandellas song 'Fever' and that one William Blake poem, you know the one.
> 
> That saline thing is a very quick way to recover from a hangover (seriously, a saline drip will clear a hangover in about ten minutes) but for the love of god do not try to self-administer
> 
> I have again straight-up jacked dialogue, this time from William H. Macy's character in 'Wag the Dog.'
> 
> It's been 'established' by an interview with Adam Driver that Kylo Ren can cook so just roll with me
> 
> I'm 100% certain I've accidentally cribbed either De Niro in Wag the Dog or Malcolm Tucker or James Carville; spin doctors have hella quotes and they do get stuck in my head.
> 
> The FOHN, an arbitrary org which I've magicked up is basically the BBC/CNN, etc.
> 
> Arrested Development popping up again.
> 
> Kylo's paintings are moody dramatic nonsense, I imagine he'd particularly like these:  
> https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/3/30/Gustave_Courbet_-_Le_D%C3%A9sesp%C3%A9r%C3%A9.JPG/732px-Gustave_Courbet_-_Le_D%C3%A9sesp%C3%A9r%C3%A9.JPG  
> https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/6/6f/HopperAutomat.jpg  
> https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/4/42/Michelangelo_Caravaggio_021.jpg/800px-Michelangelo_Caravaggio_021.jpg
> 
> The character of Rodinon, who I jacked from the stubbiest of stubs on wookiepedia, is heavily based on The Professor from Conrad's 'The Secret Agent.' It's a fab book.
> 
> "I am as I ever was, and ever shall be, yours, etc." is a direct quote from the letters of John and Abigail Adams bc they are a cute historical couple and Lena 100% thinks she's that smart


End file.
